


A Fiddle in Anniera

by Mozart_the_Meerkitten



Series: Wingfeather Falls Crossover [3]
Category: Gravity Falls, The Wingfeather Saga - Andrew Peterson
Genre: Angst, Dragons, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Feels, Fiddleford has Anxiety, Fiddleford is touch starved, Fluff, Found Family, Friendship, Gen, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks, Recovering Fiddleford H. McGucket, Sensory Overload, Wingfeather Falls universe, feels in general, so many hugs, the Wingfeathers are wonderful people
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:42:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 24,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26963110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mozart_the_Meerkitten/pseuds/Mozart_the_Meerkitten
Summary: Fiddleford's adventures and misadventures in his new home, Anniera.The Wingfeathers have to get used to the new resident of the castle. Fiddleford has to get used to people actually caring about him again.Set after Wingfeather Falls.
Series: Wingfeather Falls Crossover [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1966000
Comments: 6
Kudos: 9





	1. Nightmares

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to probably the most self-indulgent fic I have ever published. This takes place in the Wingfeather Falls universe, after the story. I love the Wingfeather family a lot and I love Fiddleford a lot so I had to write more of them interacting. These will probably be in order, but I'll try to give an idea of when they take place in relation to Wingfeather Falls at the beginning of each one.
> 
> This first chapter is set the week the Pines family was staying in Anniera (but they do not come into this story). Enjoy.

Fiddleford jerked awake, panting, heart pounding. He looked around, feeling panic creep into his heart as he realized he didn’t recognize anything about the room he was in. He scrambled to his feet and felt the ground for his glasses.

As he did, his hand brushed something soft. He jerked back in surprise, then hesitantly reached out and picked it up. It was a feather, silvery-gray in the dim moonlight that filtered through the window of his room in… Castle Rysen.

He sank to the ground and put his head in his hands. The feather fluttered from his grasp, but a moment later he picked it up again and ran his fingers over it. It was soft and smooth and had a white speckle on it.

He shivered and wrapped his arms around himself, wishing it wasn’t the middle of the night. He didn’t even know where the matches were here, so he couldn’t light a lantern or make a fire. Or maybe Artham had showed him where they were and he had forgotten? He wasn’t sure.

While at least the panic had passed he was shaking now, and not just from cold. He didn’t want to be alone, the darkness and the loneliness were oppressive. But there wasn’t anywhere for him to go. When this sort of thing happened in Gravity Falls he would usually wander into the woods and let the sounds of the birds and animals in the forest calm him down but now… there wasn’t even a forest in Anniera, and at any rate he wasn’t sure he knew how to get out of the castle, despite having stayed there for three days now.

He shouldn’t bother anyone. He should stay put and figure out something to do. But he felt too tired and his brain was too fuddled from the nightmare (or memory? It was hard to tell sometimes) to work on anything.

So, with an effort, Fiddleford got to his feet and slipped out of his room, creeping through the silent castle corridors.

_‘Please remember the way, please remember the way,’_ he pleaded silently with himself.

It wasn’t long before he stopped before a door at the end of a hallway. He hesitated, twisting the fabric of his overalls in his hands. He really, really shouldn’t be doing this, this wasn’t something that normal people did and he knew it.

But the thought of staying awake in the dark until morning was making him want to scream and jump out a window, and he _definitely_ shouldn’t do that.

So, hesitantly, he reached up a hand and knocked softly on the door.

He waited several minutes, but nothing happened. So, taking a deep breath he reached up and knocked again, a little louder this time.

There was another pause, and Fiddleford was starting to truly feel foolish doing this. He was about to give up when the door suddenly opened.

Artham stood there, blinking. “Oh, hello, Fiddleford,” he said. “What is it?”  
Fiddleford wrung his hands. “I don’t mean to bother you, I really don’t, I just,” he looked down, not sure how to continue.  
“Was it a nightmare?”  
Fiddleford looked up, surprised. “Er, yeah. I know it’s probably silly of me to be here, I just, just,” he swallowed and looked down. “Didn’t wanna be by myself.”  
It sounded even more foolish when he said it out loud. He was acting like a child, this is why no one ever wanted to have him around, he should have stayed in his room…

Artham set a hand gently on his shoulder. He jumped, and looked up nervously at his friend.  
“It’s not silly,” said Artham, his voice soft and sad. “I’ve had plenty of nightmares I don’t want to be alone after and… plenty where that was the case and I had no choice but to be alone.”

Fiddleford said nothing, just stared down at the floor. Artham came and stood beside him, shutting the door of his room. He gently turned Fiddleford around and wrapped an arm around his shoulders.  
“Come,” said Artham. “We’ll go back to your room and I’ll stay with you.”  
Fiddleford rubbed at the tears that were threatening to spill out of his eyes. “Thanks,” he whispered hoarsely.

They went back to his room. Artham paused when he entered, and tilted his head, taking in the still-made bed and the two twisted blankets on the floor.

“Fiddleford,” said Artham softly. “Are you sleeping on the floor?”  
“Well,” Fiddleford shuffled nervously. “I don’t really like sleepin’ in a bed. I didn’t for a long time an’ now it’s too soft.”  
Artham squeezed his shoulder just a little. “I understand.”  
“In my old house, the big one, I used to make a little nest of blankets and sleep in it,” said Fiddleford. “But I don’t know where you keep the blankets here, or-or if it’d be alright if I took any.”  
“It would be perfectly alright,” said Artham, firmly. “I’ll show you where we keep them.”

They went back into the hall and walked along till they came to a door that opened to reveal shelves stocked with blankets.  
Fiddleford’s eyes widened. “You got quite a stash here.”  
Artham chuckled and started pulling some off the shelves. “It’s still technically winter, so we’re well stocked, but there’s blankets in here year round. There’s a few other cupboards like this throughout the castle,” he grinned. “The children like to play in them sometimes, and use them to make forts.”  
“Sounds like fun,” said Fiddleford, smiling a little as Artham handed him a couple of blankets.  
“It is,” agreed Artham. “If you ask them sometime they’ll help you make one.”  
“I’ll have to be keepin’ that in mind.”

Laden with armfuls of blankets they returned to Fiddleford’s room. Artham laid a comforter on the floor as a base, then handed blankets to Fiddleford, who used them to make rounded walls for his nest.  
“I am sorry about this,” said Fiddleford quietly as he worked. “I know I ought not have woken you up an’ bothered you.”  
“It’s not a bother,” said Artham. “There are plenty of nights where the children wake me up, or when Aurendelle does. And I wake her far more often. Sometimes you just need someone else to be there when you wake up afraid.”

Fiddleford felt a little better hearing that. He draped a blanket over his shoulders like a cloak and regarded Artham. “Still got an awful lot of blankets there.”  
Artham nodded. “I’ll stay if you want me to.”  
Fiddleford felt a jolt of surprise run through him. “Really?”  
“Of course.”  
“Well,” Fiddleford climbed out of his blankets. “Better make you a nest too then. Heh,” he tapped Artham’s wings. “Nest.”  
Artham laughed. “Indeed.”

A little while later they were both curled up in their blanket nests. There was a warm feeling in Fiddleford’s heart as he listened to Artham’s steady breathing.

It would be good to stay here, he thought. Very good indeed.


	2. Food

The Wingfeathers and their friends had gathered for dinner as they did every night. During the day it could be difficult to get everyone together for breakfast and lunch, but for dinner they always tried to meet.

And that was why Artham noticed someone was missing.

“Has anyone seen Fiddleford?” he asked.  
“Nope!” said Kal, thoroughly distracted by the smell of food coming from the kitchen.  
“Not since last night,” said Janner.  
Artham frowned as the others shook their heads as well. “I’d better go and find him then,” he said, standing. “I’ll be back.”

He made an effort not to run to Fiddleford’s room. It wasn’t that he was worried, it was just that sometimes _walking_ just felt too slow when he knew he could run there in less than half the time. However, people usually assumed something was wrong when they saw a Throne Warden running through the castle, so he was trying to train himself out of the habit.

He reached his friend’s room and knocked on the door. A scratchy, “Come in!” answered, and he went inside.

Fiddleford was sitting on the floor of his room, surrounded by the bits and pieces of metal he’d brought from Gravity Falls, as well as some others he had obviously found or built from materials in Anniera. Artham was constantly impressed with his creativity and apparent ability to invent something out of almost anything.

“Well hi, Artham,” he said, looking up and smiling.  
Artham smiled back. “Hello Fiddleford. Were you planning to join us for dinner tonight?”  
Fiddleford stared at him for a moment, then suddenly slapped a hand to his forehead. “Fiddlesticks! Is it that late already?”  
“I’m afraid so,” said Artham.  
Fiddleford sprang up and dusted himself off. “Must’ve got distracted. Been workin’ all day and barely been out of my room!”

Artham felt a suspicion rise up in his mind and he frowned. He had seen Fiddleford once today, earlier, but he had been busy helping Janner and Kalmar with their training and hadn’t checked in on him again.

“Fiddleford,” he said as they walked back into the corridor. “Did you come to breakfast this morning?”  
Fiddleford frowned. “Don’t reckon I did.”  
“What about lunch?”  
“Well, I reckon I missed that too,” he rubbed his fingers together and looked down. “But it’s alright, I’m used to it by now. I’m always forgettin’ about food, get distracted, but it’s alright, I’ve been like that a long time.”  
Artham felt a pang in his heart. “And you probably didn’t always used to have food on hand, did you?” he said, quietly.  
“Well, no, not for a long time. Didn’t really have any money to speak of to get it, so it was whatever I could scrounge up,” said Fiddleford.  
“Right,” said Artham. He found himself remembering the years he had spent in Glipwood in a similar state.  
“Wasn’t really sure if you’d all want me hanging around for dinner anyway,” Fiddleford continued, quietly. “Don’t really know if I have any manners to speak of anymore.”  
Artham took a breath. “It’s alright, Fiddleford, you can’t possibly inhale food any faster than Kalmar does. And if Nia doesn’t mind that terribly much then I doubt anything will bother her.”  
“Heh, you’re right, that little feller sure can eat,” Fiddleford chuckled.  
“His father was the same way,” said Artham, his smile a little sad. “So I’m sure it will be alright.”

They were quiet for a few moments and Artham fought to collect his thoughts before they spiraled away from him.

“Would- would you like it if one of us were to remind you to come to meals?” Artham asked finally.  
“Well there’s an idea,” said Fiddleford. “I wouldn’t mind that.”  
“Then I’ll mention it to the others,” said Artham, firmly. “I would hate to know that anyone in my family was missing meals if there was something I could do about it.”  
He had snuck in the word “family” and from the lack of reaction from Fiddleford he could only assume that his friend hadn’t noticed (if he had, Artham was sure he would have been too surprised to hide it).

“I appreciate that,” said Fiddleford. “Probably there’s lots of things I need reminded of.”  
“That’s alright,” said Artham. “There’s lots of things I need reminded of too.”

He smiled, and Fiddleford grinned back at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Artham be like: I am adopting you and there is nothing you can do about it.


	3. Clothes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set roughly two weeks after Wingfeather Falls. Nia joins Artham in trying to take care of Fiddleford.

“Fiddleford,” said Nia, quietly.  
The man jumped, and immediately looked at her with a slightly nervous expression. He was sitting on the floor, holding one of his tools called a “screwdriver” and a small wooden box.  
She smiled, feeling a little bad for startling him, but she hadn’t been alone with Artham’s new friend for more than a few moments since he’d come here, and there was something she needed to ask him.

“Fiddleford, are those they only clothes you have?” she said, keeping her voice low and soft, like she did when her children were frightened.  
He blinked and looked down at his worn brown overalls. “Well, I got a couple sweaters Mabel made me,” he said, hesitantly. “But that’s about it.”  
Nia took a deep breath. “Well then we’re going to have to fix that,” she stood. “Come with me.”

Fiddleford slowly stood and followed her as she led him into the hall.  
“What- what’re we doing?” he asked.  
“I’m going to take your measurements and send them to a seamstress and get you some clothes made,” said Nia, calmly.  
“Oh, er, you, you don’t need to do that, I’ll be alright,” said Fiddleford, wringing his hands.  
Nia stopped and turned, looking him in the eye. He barely held her gaze for a moment before he looked down. He looked like a child waiting for a punishment, and her heart went out to him.

“It is no trouble,” she said, quietly, firmly. “But I won’t have anyone on this castle, no, on this island, running around in rags when I can do something about it.”  
She gently reached out and laid a hand on his arm. “And it will help,” she said, earnestly. “Now come along.”

He still wouldn’t look at her, but he seemed less worried somehow.

She led him into her suite of rooms and found her tape measure then turned and looked at the man standing in the middle of the room, looking like he was afraid to touch anything.

“This won’t take very long,” she said, walking over to him. “Just hold still and,” she hesitated, not entirely sure if she should say her next thought.  
“And stand up straight, if you could,” she said, finally.

He did as she asked, and Nia was surprised to discover that he was the same height as her. She took his measurements, and he jumped every time the tape measure touched him or her hands flitted over his skin. His reactions reminded her of Artham when he lived in Glipwood Forest, and she once again felt an ache in her heart for him.

“Alright, there,” she said, pulling back and tucking her paper with the numbers into her pocket. “It shouldn’t take more than a week for us to have you some clothes ready.”  
He nodded. “Thank you, ma’am,” he said, quietly. He hesitated, then visibly steeled himself and continued. “I-I was just wonderin’, would it- would it be alright if I kept my hat? I know it ain’t much to look at, but I’m just, I’m used to it is all.”  
Nia smiled. “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that. And, after all, Kalmar’s rather fond of it.”  
“Heh,” he ducked his head, but not before she saw a small smile on his face. “He’s a good little feller. You oughta be right proud of him, I reckon.”  
“I am,” said Nia.  
“Well, I-I guess I’ll go if that’s alright,” he looked up at her, as if he expected her to say no.  
She merely nodded. “That’s fine. I’m sorry to have kept you from your work.”  
“Oh, it ain’t, it ain’t nothin’ important, ma’am,” said Fiddleford.  
“Well all the same, I’ll let you get back to it,” said Nia. “I’ll see you at supper.”

Fiddleford nodded, then hurriedly slipped away. Nia sighed and pressed a hand against her forehead. Then, she took a deep breath, straightened up, and went to find a messenger.

****

“Artham, what are you doing?” asked Aurendelle, curiously peeking over her husband’s shoulder.  
“I’m making socks,” Artham announced, knitting calmly.  
Aurendelle bit her lip and tried not to smile. “Any particular reason?”  
“Well,” said Artham. “I thought that since Fiddleford can’t get himself to wear shoes he might be able to manage wearing socks for now. And then I decided I’d better make him some.”  
Aurendelle pressed a hand to her mouth and held back a giggle. “That’s very thoughtful of you.”  
“I’m even putting these treads on the bottom,” said Artham, holding them up. “To give them some traction and so that the socks don’t get as wet if he steps in water.”

Aurendelle leaned over and kissed him on the forehead. “You’re a good friend.”  
Artham looked startled, and this time she did chuckle a little at his expression. Hesitantly, he grinned back at her.

****

It was a few days later that Nia, at Aurendelle’s suggestion, had gathered both Fiddleford and Artham into the sitting room. She hadn’t told anyone else what they were doing because she hadn’t wanted Fiddleford to get overwhelmed if all of her children showed up.

He was sitting on one of the couches with Artham at the moment. Originally he had been sitting on the floor, and Nia had debated the wisdom of trying to coax him somewhere else. Artham, however, had saved her from that. She supposed she shouldn’t be surprised that he had the right words to get Fiddleford to listen, when his own situation had been so similar not very long ago.

She didn’t see any reason to wait now that Artham was here, so she picked up the three brown paper packages from the table and handed them over to Fiddleford. He set them on his lap and looked at them thoughtfully, then ran his hands over the paper like it was made of something precious.

He noticed her watching him and smiled nervously at her. “Don’t often get gifts,” he said, and she had a feeling he was trying to apologize for the delay.  
She just bit her lip and nodded. “Take your time,” she said quietly. Then she pulled over her rocking chair and sat down in it, watching him out of the corner of her eye and pretending there was something fascinating on the mantlepiece.

Finally she heard the crackling of paper and looked over just as Fiddleford opened the first of the packages. He froze, then slowly reached out a hand and ran it over the soft fabric of the sky-blue sweater inside. Nia had made certain to write in her instructions that only the softest fabrics be used for the clothes.

“That looks like it’ll keep you warm,” said Artham.  
Fiddleford nodded. “An’ it’s the softest thing I ever remember havin’ touched,” he said quietly, still running his hands over the fabric. “I didn’t know they made clothes this soft.”  
“You could try it on,” suggested Artham.  
“Oh, well, I,” Fiddleford looked down. “I’d just get it dirty or somethin’.”  
Artham shrugged. “That’s alright. It’s yours.”  
Fiddleford looked up at him and Artham smiled gently. Hesitantly, Fiddleford lifted up the sweater and hugged it to his chest.  
“Well,” he said, finally. “I reckon I wouldn’t be shiverin’ so much if I put this on, so…” he took off his hat and set it to the side, then pulled the sweater over his head and overalls.

“Heh,” he said, rubbing the sleeve between his fingers. “Don’t tell Mabel, but this is even softer than one of her sweaters.”  
Artham smiled and cleared the paper away. “Why don’t you open the rest?”

The rest of the clothes received similar reactions. There were four shirts, two lighter blue like the sweater, one gray and one light green. To go with them were four pairs of plain brown pants of various shades.

Fiddleford looked overwhelmed and like he was probably close to tears by the time he got to the end of them. He finally managed to look up at Nia and give her a little smile.  
“I-I don’t know what to say, ma’am, except thank you from the very bottom of my heart,” he said.  
Nia smiled back, her throat tight and her own eyes a little watery. “You’re very welcome.”

Artham took a breath and reached around the side of the couch, lifting up a smaller package and setting it in Fiddleford’s lap. “Now you can open mine.”  
Fiddleford blinked and looked up at him openmouthed. “Aw, shucks, you mean there’s more? Y-y’all didn’t tell me this was gonna be like Christmas,” he wiped away the tears sliding down his cheeks and opened up the paper with shaking hands. “I don’t deserve any of this y’know.”  
“You deserve all of it and more,” said Nia firmly and a little fiercely. “Everyone deserves to be cared for.”  
He looked at her uncertainly, but didn’t say anything, and after a moment turned his attention to what was in Artham’s gift. Out of the paper he pulled out a pair of brightly colored knitted socks and held them up.

“You… you made me socks?” his voice broke a little.  
“Yes!” Artham grinned. “Three pairs, for now. I thought you might like them better than shoes. And look!” he lifted up the bottom of the socks. “There’s a bit of tread on the bottom, so that they won’t get wet as easily, and they’ll be easier to walk places in.”

Fiddleford stared at him for a moment, then abruptly grabbed hold of Artham and hugged him. He was crying in earnest now, shaking with tears running down his face. Artham hugged him back gently.

Nia couldn’t stand it. She walked over and gently set a hand on Fiddleford’s back, rubbing it up and down. “Shh, shh, it’s alright,” she said, quietly.  
They stayed like that for a little while, until Fiddleford pulled back, rubbing at his eyes and looking embarrassed.

“I’m- I’m right sorry,” he said, his voice hoarse and shaky. “I just, I-I ain’t used to people caring so much.”  
Nia reached out and took his hands and squeezed them gently. “You have nothing to be sorry for,” she assured him. “Now why don’t we take all this back to your room?”


	4. Snuggles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set a few weeks after Fiddleford comes to Anniera, this time featuring Leeli! I've decided to go through each of members of the Wingfeather family and give them a chapter with Fiddleford, because that seems like the best plan.

Leeli walked through the garden of Castle Rysen, picking flowers as she went. She handed them to Artham, who walked along next to her and held them carefully in his hands.

“Uncle Artham,” she said, quietly. “Why does Fiddleford jump every time one of us touches him?”  
Leeli looked up at him. Artham looked surprised, but he recovered quickly.  
“Oh, well, when a person is alone for a long time they get used to not being touched by other people. So, when someone does touch them it feels like when you rub your socks through a rug and then shock someone. It’s startling,” he said.  
“Oh,” Leeli considered this. “Should I stop doing it then?”  
Artham stopped. Leeli stopped with him and watched his face. There was a great deal of pain and emotion in his expression, and it made her want to hug him.  
“No,” said Artham finally, his voice soft. “You absolutely should keep doing it. You did it for me, didn’t you?”  
Leeli nodded. “I just wanted to make sure it was alright.”  
“Yes,” said Artham, firmly. “You can’t get used to something again if it never happens. Just… be gentle and respectful. To be honest touch can still be… overwhelming for me, sometimes, I’ve just gotten better at hiding my reactions.”

Leeli took hold of his shirt and grinned up at him. “Then I’m going to have to hug you more,” she said, before doing just that.

****

It was the next day when, armed with this new knowledge, Leeli quietly put her little plan into effect.

She found Fiddleford staring out one of the windows, leaning on the edge so that he had almost poked his head out of it. She was wearing his new clothes, and socks uncle Artham had made him, and Leeli thought it suited him. He was especially fond of the blue sweater, and Leeli hadn’t seen him without it since he’d gotten it.

“Hi Fiddleford,” she said, quietly, one hand tucked behind her back.  
He sprang back from the window and whipped around, eyes wide with alarm. Leeli held her hand up and spoke softly.  
“It’s okay,” she said. “It’s just me.”  
He blinked, and relaxed a little, looking down. “Oh. Hi little Leeli.”  
She grinned. “Hi,” she limped forward until she was within arm’s reach of him. “I made you something.”  
“Oh, er, th-that’s alright, y’don’t need to…”  
“I already did,” said Leeli. “And I don’t mind,” she rocked back a little. “Could you take your hat off?”  
He looked startled. “Wh-why?”  
She smiled reassuringly. “It’s okay, I’m not going to take it away.”  
He still looked uncertain, but he slowly took his hat off and clutched it in his hands.  
“Now close your eyes,” Leeli instructed. He looked like she had just asked him to jump out the window, so she added. “It’s just for a moment. Don’t worry, Janner and Kal aren’t going to jump out from anywhere.”  
Fiddleford’s eyes darted around for a moment, as if he expected that in spite of her assurances.  
Leeli reached out her free hand and gently touched his arm. He jumped. “It’s okay,” she said. “Trust me.”

He still looked worried, but he shut his eyes. Leeli pulled her other hand from behind her back and held up her gift, unable to keep a smile off her face.  
“Okay,” she said. “Open your eyes.”  
His eyes popped open and widened. “What-what’s that?”  
“It’s a flower crown,” grinned Leeli. “Sara and I like to make them for everyone sometimes. You should see how Janner blushes when Sara gives him one,” she giggled.

Then she leaned over and stood on her toes, reached up and set the crown on his head, settling it in his scruffy hair.  
He blinked and hesitantly went to touch it, then stopped. “I ain’t gonna break it, am I?”  
“Not just by touching it,” said Leeli. “They don’t usually break unless the flowers wither, or if they get thrown around.”  
“I’d never do that!” said Fiddleford, looking shocked.  
Leeli giggled. He looked unsure of the noise but reached up and gently ran his fingers over the flowers all the same.  
“It’s a right pretty crown,” he said. “Thank you.”  
Leeli beamed at him.

****

She’d given him a flower crown.

Now that he had thought about it he did remember seeing them before, but he wasn’t exactly sure where. Maybe he had seen the girls making them in the castle gardens, or maybe it was something Mabel had done.

And now, the little girl was standing there, staring at him, beaming like a ray of sunshine with her grin and her golden hair. Fiddleford didn’t even know what to do after thanking her.

Luckily Leeli did. “Do you still want to learn to play the whistleharp?” she asked.  
“Oh, well, yeah,” he said, surprised. “Did- did you still wanna learn to play a banjo?”  
“Absolutely,” she said firmly. “We could do it right now, if you want.”  
“Well, I,” he shrugged. “I guess I ain’t got anything better to do. Sure!”

She grinned at him. “Okay, c’mon then.”  
She reached out and took his hand and he jumped, almost pulling away out of shock. After a moment he gently squeezed her hand back and let her lead him along through the castle.

They ended up in a room filled with instruments. Fiddleford stared at them in surprise. He could recognize some of them, but others were completely different than anything he’d seen, like Leeli’s whistleharp.  
And not one of them was a banjo.

Leeli let go of his hand and hopped over to a case set against the wall. “This is our music room,” she said. “Anyone who wants to sing or play an instrument can come in here to practice.”  
“It’s sure nifty,” he said, looking around. “Bet you get real good acoustics in here.”  
Leeli nodded. She came back over to him and handed him the case. “This is for you.”

He fought back a wave of anxiousness at those words. If these people kept giving him things he was going to have a breakdown, he was sure of it. He wasn’t ungrateful, he just had no idea how to process receiving gifts after 30 years of not getting any. And they were all so generous and friendly about it! He could understand if they gave him things grudgingly, or if they gave him old hand-me-down things nobody wanted, but they kept giving him new things, things specially made for him.

He wasn’t sure how to explain to them that he deserved none of it, and that they really shouldn’t be wasting effort on him. He wasn’t worth it.

“Fiddleford? Are you okay?”  
He jumped. Oh, he had been standing there holding the box for a while, hadn’t he? It was starting to feel heavy. He should really open it. Leeli was looking worried. He swallowed hard and instinctively wrapped his arms around the box, suddenly unsure what to do with it or himself.

Leeli reached out a put a hand on his arm. He jumped again. He wished he would stop doing that, but he just couldn’t get used to how easily these people touched him. That they didn’t seem to mind doing it, that they seemed to think he was worthy of that too.

He was vaguely aware that Leeli had steered him into a chair and that she was doing something now, but he couldn’t focus on her or anything else. He had the box in a vicelike grip now- he didn’t think he could let go of it if he tried. He squeezed his eyes shut. This was not the sort of thing normal people did, he had to stop, he had to try to focus, to try to think, why couldn’t he _think_ -

A soft, beautiful little voice broke through his spinning thoughts. He couldn’t make sense of the words at first, but the tune gave him something to hold onto, something to ground him, and he took a deep breath as the sounds started to form into words.

Gradually he relaxed his death-grip on the box and opened his eyes. Leeli was sitting on the floor next to his chair, eyes shut, singing her little heart out. Quietly he climbed out of the chair and set the box on top of it, then walked around and sat next to her, letting her singing chase away his anxieties, at least for a moment.

After a while, Leeli stopped singing and opened her eyes. She smiled when she saw him, oh that child had a smile like a sunrise after a thunderstorm.

Neither of them said anything for a while. Fiddleford looked down and rubbed his hand up and down over the sleeve of his sweater.  
“I guess I made a right fool of myself, didn’t I?” he said, finally.  
“Why do you think that?” asked Leeli. She sounded confused, and when he looked up her brows were drawn together and she was frowning.  
“Well I-” he swallowed. “I guess freezin’ up isn’t a thing normal fellers do.”

Leeli bit her lip. She scooted over until she was sitting right next to him, close enough that they were almost touching. He sat very still, trying not to brush against her arm.  
But then Leeli leaned over and wrapped her arms around him and he felt terribly confused again.

“Did uncle Artham tell you that when we lived in Glipwood I was the first one who made friends with him?” she asked, still holding on to him.  
“D-don’t reckon he did,” Fiddleford managed.  
“He wasn’t like he is now then,” she continued. “He wore socks on his hands and talked in gibberish and tried to fight street signs.”  
He could hear the smile in her voice, the fondness, and it was confusing, but he didn’t dare say anything.  
“But he was good, he’s always been good,” said Leeli. “He was kind and gentle and made really good stew in his treehouse. And he was scared and lonely and hurt. I wanted to help him,” she looked up and met his eyes. “I want to help you too.”

He blinked, and suddenly felt tears in his eyes. He tried to look away, anywhere but at the little girl who was looking at him like… like that. With kindness and compassion and love and it was too much, it was too much-

Leeli squeezed him tighter as he started to cry, tears dripping down into her golden hair.  
“It’s okay,” she said, her voice gentle and soft. “It’s okay.”

He didn’t know what else to do but hug her back and bury his face in her hair.

****

Things had not exactly gone as Leeli planned. She had been just going to give Fiddleford the whistleharp she’d asked be made for him and had figured they could sit and play for a while.

But, of course, that wasn’t how it worked out.

And that was okay.

She felt a warm feeling spread through her when Fiddleford hugged her back, and she smiled. They sat like that for a long, long time, and she whispered assurances to him as he cried and cried, until she could feel little damp spots in her hair from his tears.

When he finally stopped shaking and crying she felt his breathing even out, felt him relax, and when she pulled back she realized he was asleep. She grinned, and settled down so he was leaning against her shoulder.

And she sat there and sang quietly, until uncle Artham came and found them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FUN FACT: This chapter didn't turn out how I expected either, I was as surprised as Leeli. But I think it turned out better than what I had planned, and I'm happy with it.


	5. Inventor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is a little different. It starts the same week the Leeli one does but spans several months. You’ll see why once you read it.  
> This time featuring Kalmar! The little scamp.

Fiddleford looked up in surprise when he heard footsteps stomp into the sitting room and a frustrated huff. Kalmar walked over to the couch and flopped down on it, upside down, glaring at nothing.

Fiddleford stood, went over to the couch and joined him in staring at the wall upside down. “What’s wrong, little feller?” he asked.  
Kal sighed. “Sometimes I just really hate being a King. Grown-ups can be so stupid and frustrating, especially when all they want to do is treat you like a little kid! But I’m not! I’ll be 13 in a couple months and I fought in a war! I escaped from Castle Throg and didn’t die! It’s not my fault I don’t understand stupid grown-up politics.”  
“That does sound right frustratin’,” agreed Fiddleford.  
“Mama says I should be patient with them, that they’ll get used to me eventually, but I don’t want to be patient,” Kal growled. “I’m tired of them patronizing me.”

“You wanna build a giant robot to scare ‘em with?” Fiddleford asked.  
Kal snorted and started to laugh, then stopped when he looked over and saw Fiddleford was serious. “Wait, can you do that?”  
“Sure! It ain’t very hard,” said Fiddleford. Then he frowned. “’Course I ain’t sure I have all the right tools… but I can always invent some more! How much metal have you got here?”  
“Well, we do have quite a lot of extra metal. We’ve been smelting it down, but, hang on,” Kal sat up. “You can actually just… build a robot? Just like that?”  
Fiddleford sat up as well. “Well, it’ll take a few days, but yeah!”  
“Wow,” grinned Kal. “That’s pretty amazing.”

Fiddleford ducked his head. “Aw, it ain’t really.”  
“Yeah it is! You showed me all those crazy designs you made,” said Kal. “You can build one of those in a few _days_?!”  
Fiddleford shrugged. “Yeah.”  
“Hmm,” Kal tapped a finger on his chin. “I’m going to have to think about this. Maybe we can tell people it’s something strategic and then test it on all the annoying diplomats…”

Fiddleford hesitated, not sure if he should say what he was thinking. But the boy seemed so excited and it was so nice and he hadn’t had anyone to work with him in _decades_ …

“Do ya, do ya wanna help me build one?” he asked finally.  
Kal froze. His eyes widened. “Really? You’d let me help?”  
“Well, sure, if you want to,” said Fiddleford, hopefulness creeping into his voice.  
“I would _love_ to!” said Kal, beaming at him. “When can we start?!”  
Fiddleford gaped at him for a moment, then grinned brightly, springing to his feet. “Right now! C’mon!”

****

They stopped at his room and loaded his tools into his backpack. He had asked Kal if there were any empty rooms no one would mind them using, and Kal had eagerly dragged him to one. And Fiddleford couldn’t stop _grinning_. The boy was so enthusiastic and it was just so nice to have someone so excited over his work. It might not last once they actually started on the project and Kalmar realized how tedious it was (it wasn’t tedious to _him_ , but he had learned that it was to almost everyone else) but for now he was basking in the boy’s simple joy. He hadn’t seen anyone so excited to make something mechanical since he and Ford were working on the Portal.

“Okay, so what do we do?” asked Kal, staring at the assortment of tools Fiddleford had pulled out of his backpack and set before them.  
“Well first of all,” said Fiddleford. “You gotta understand what tools we’re gonna be using so you don’t get yourself hurt,” he would be horrified if the boy was injured because he had forgotten to explain something, so at the risk of losing Kal’s interest he decided he had better go through a full safety explanation.

To his surprise, however, Kal’s interest showed no sings of waning. He hung on every word, listened intently to every explanation, and even jotted a few notes down in his sketchbook.

When Fiddleford had finished explaining all the tools and how to use them safely he took a deep breath and gave Kalmar the best mischievous grin he had. “Now, what’cha wanna build, little feller?”  
“Wellll,” Kal opened his sketchbook and started drawing. “I don’t exactly know what we can even possibly build, but-”  
“Just about anythin’ you put your mind to,” Fiddleford assured him. “One time I made a robot out of a house, a bunch of junk, some cars and a dinosaur! Held up pretty well in battle too!”  
Kal gaped at him. “I only understood about half of that but it sounds _amazing_. Okay, so I was thinking something like this,” he held up his drawing. “And I want it to be able to protect the castle, if that’s something we can do.”  
Fiddleford nodded. “Sure is! Now, where’d you say you were keepin’ all that scrap metal?”

****

Almost every day for over two months Kalmar came and joined him in working on their project. It spiraled a little out of control, and soon they were making three robots instead of just one, but Fiddleford didn’t mind. Kalmar was cheerful and friendly and it was just so easy to be around him for some reason. On days Fiddleford didn’t feel like talking, Kal would fill the silence with stories of him and his siblings and their adventures.

One day while they were working, Fiddleford finally worked up the courage to ask him a question.  
“Kal,” he said. “I was just wonderin’, why’d you choose that first design? It’s a good one, I reckon, but it ain’t somethin’ people would normally think of.”  
Kal paused. His hands slowly fell back at his sides and he looked over. Fiddleford felt nervousness creep into his mind. He shouldn’t have asked the boy, it’s not like it was actually important to know where the idea came from, maybe it had just been random, maybe it was just because Kal had grown up in a different world-

“It’s because of my father,” Kal said, quietly. Fiddleford frowned.  
Kal looked down. “My father was captured with uncle Artham when Anniera burned. They were taken to the Deeps of Castle Throg- which is like the worst place you can possibly imagine and then even more terrible,” he wrapped his arms around himself. “They both went mad and they both escaped. But when they got out all they wanted to do was protect us kids. When my siblings and I came to the Hollows my dad had a vision of us and came to find us. He ended up dying because he came to protect us, because he loved us. That’s why I wanted to design it this way. Because it reminds me of him.”

Fiddleford wasn’t exactly sure what to do after that, so he hesitantly reached up and patted the boy’s shoulder. Kal looked up and smiled at him, then reached out and patted him back.

“It’s okay,” Kal said. “I know my father loved us, and I loved him too, even if I didn’t know him for very long. I just want people to remember him too.”

****

Two and a half months after they started their project it was finally finished. Fiddleford knew he could have finished them in two and a half weeks if he’d wanted, but it had been so much more enjoyable to do it with Kalmar. He had felt happier and more a part of something than he had in decades, which made it well worth the wait.

But that didn’t mean he was any less excited, or anxious, when the day came to unveil their creations.

Kalmar had gathered the whole family outside the room they’d been working in and had immediately launched into some combination of a grand speech and an overly excited explanation. Fiddleford was too worried to really pay attention to what the boy was saying, but he was enjoying watching Kal’s hand waving and arm flailing as he explained.

Fiddleford had taken his hat off to have something to hold onto and he wrung it nervously in his hands. That morning he had been assailed with a sudden wave of doubt and dread about the whole project. Maybe he should have told one of the adults and made certain it was alright with them, maybe everyone would hate it, maybe the machines wouldn’t even work (they had tested them, but that wasn’t a guarantee they would behave), maybe this was all wrong and they’d decide he shouldn’t stay in the castle anymore because he was obviously having a bad influence on their impressionable young king, maybe-

“And of course all the amazing stuff you’re about to see would never have been possible without my friend Fiddleford,” Kal was suddenly standing beside him and had put an arm around his shoulders. He jumped, and grinned a little sheepishly, looking down at the floor.

“So are we actually going to get to see all the amazing stuff, or just hear you vaguely refer to what it is?” asked Janner, raising an eyebrow.  
Kal grinned. “I thought I was the impatient one, Janner.”  
“If impatience is standing here listening to you drone on about something I haven’t even seen yet for ten minutes, then yes I’m impatient,” said Janner, rolling his eyes.  
“Well then wait no longer, my impatient brother, for behind this door are creations beyond your wildest-”  
“Can’t we just open the door and see, Kal?” asked Leeli sweetly.  
“I’m going to open it if he doesn’t,” muttered Janner.  
“He is taking a rather long time,” agreed Sara.  
The adults were trying very hard not to laugh.

Kal sighed dramatically. “I’m not appreciated in my time,” then he turned and pulled the door open.  
Fiddleford scampered inside before the others and ducked behind their creations, which were hidden under several sheets they’d tied together. Kal walked back to him and tugged his arm.  
“C’mon, Fidds, you’re the one who actually really made these things,” said Kal. “You can’t let me take all the credit.”  
“Aw, I don’t mind,” said Fiddleford, shuffling his feet. “’Sides you did as much work as I did on ‘em.”

Kalmar held out his hand and Fiddleford looked up at him. The boy grinned. “Then we’ll go together.”  
Hesitantly, Fiddleford took the boy’s hand, and Kal pulled him back in front of their hidden masterpiece.

“Behold our new statues and Anniera’s new defenses!” said Kal, reaching up and giving the sheet a yank.  
It tumbled off and nearly smothered both of them. Artham and Janner came to their rescue and pulled the sheet off them, then stepped back.

Fiddleford gazed up at their creations and, despite everything, felt a small hint of pride. They were really very good.

There were three statues that doubled as robots; one was a hawk, one was a great dog the size of a horse, and the third was a huge bear, about eight feet tall, standing on its hindpaws and staring out into the distance. All three were made to look like they were covered in fur, not just metal plating, and the faces were as lifelike as he and Kal could make them.

As soon as they saw them the whole Wingfeather family froze. They stared for so long that Fiddleford was starting to think he’d done something wrong and that this really was a bad idea when Leeli limped forward and laid her hand on the dog’s nose.

She looked over at Kal, her eyes wide and shining. “You made Nugget,” she said, quietly.  
“I thought you’d like it,” said Kal. Then he skipped over to his mother. “And mama, see, we made a bear like papa so he can still defend us! Sort of. And we made the hawk after uncle Artham, because the castle should always have a Throne Warden to defend it.”  
Nia didn’t say anything, she simply wrapped her arms around Kalmar and hugged him.

A little hand touched Fiddleford’s arm and he startled and found Leeli watching him.  
“They’re really lovely,” she said. “Thank you.”  
He nodded. “It ain’t no trouble.”  
She grinned and hugged him. No matter how many times she did that he was never going to be used to it.

“So they move, right?” asked Janner, running his hands over one of the bear’s paws. Sara stood next to him, gazing up at the statue thoughtfully.  
“Yeah!” said Kal, dashing back over. He spun in a circle, frowning. “Where…?”  
Fiddleford pulled one of the controllers out of his pocket and held it up. “Here ya go, Kal.”  
Kal hesitated. “Are you sure?”  
Fiddleford grinned. “I’ve started up plenty’a robots in my day, you go fer it.”  
Kal beamed and took the controller. “Okay everybody, stand back.”  
“What are they going to do?” asked Artham, frowning.  
“Well they walk and stuff. And they can fight, but we uh, only tested that once and nearly broke that support beam, so,” he pointed to a beam in the corner that was splintered and bent a bit.  
“Going to have to fix that up then, I suppose,” Podo sighed. “Alright, let’s see yer machines, Kalmar.”

Kal, grinning like the up-and-coming mad scientist he was, flipped a switch on the controller.  
With a _whirr_ and _hum_ the robots came to life. The dog shook itself and panted, its metal tongue lolling out. The hawk screeched and flapped its wings. The bear turned its head and rumbled, then went down on all fours with a _THUMP_ that shook the ground.

The family gaped at the creatures, then suddenly Leeli gave a squeal and bolted up to the dog, hugging it tightly. The dog seemed to appreciate this, its tail began to wag and it leaned its head against Leeli, nuzzling her gently.  
“They’re so real looking,” whispered Sara. “It’s almost like they’re alive.”  
Podo nodded. "They're pretty impressive. Almost makes up for all that yammering Kalmar was doing."  
Nia quietly walked up to the bear. It sat up and tilted its head at her. She smiled sadly at it.  
“Is it okay, mama?” Kal asked, coming up beside her.  
She leaned over and kissed his head. “It’s wonderful.”

Fiddleford watched them all marveling over the creatures and smiled a little. He heard a small rustle and looked over to find Artham standing next to him.  
“D’you like ‘em, Artham?” he asked, hopefully.  
Artham smiled, but his eyes looked sad. “They’re amazing, Fiddleford. Truly worthy defenders of Anniera.”  
“Kal said he made the bear because of his father. I reckon that’d be your brother.”  
“Indeed,” said Artham, his voice barely a whisper. “Esben.”  
“Kal thought we oughta make the hawk so that there’d be somewhere the two of you wouldn’t be separated,” Fiddleford continued.  
Artham blinked and tears ran down his face. “That was very thoughtful of you.”

Fiddleford reached out and gently patted him on the arm. Artham gave him a watery chuckle and pulled Fiddleford into a hug.  
“You’ve given us more than we deserve, I think,” said Artham, quietly.  
Fiddleford hugged him back. “Aw, if that’s so I’m just repayin’ the favor then.”

They pulled back and stood beside each other, watching as the others marveled over the creatures, until suddenly Kalmar appeared and grabbed Fiddleford’s hand.  
“Come on, Fidds! You have to explain how all this works! Janner keeps asking me questions and I’m not that great at explaining.”  
“You’re better than you think, little feller,” chuckled Fiddleford as Kal dragged him over. He looked back and saw Artham standing there grinning at them.

A warm, happy feeling blossomed in his heart, and for the first time he truly started to believe that maybe, just maybe, he could belong here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: Okay brain, which one of the kids is most likely to enjoy inventing things?  
> my brain, without hesitation: Kalmar.  
> me:... Okay! No idea why that makes sense but that works for me!
> 
> If I ever write a sequel to Wingfeather Falls Kalmar's newfound knowledge of robotics will come up.


	6. Books

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place about a month after Wingfeather Falls, this time featuring Janner.
> 
> As a side note, the depiction of sensory overload in this chapter, and, actually, all the kinds of anxiety and its effects described in this story are based off my own experiences. Part of the reason I like Fiddleford so much is because I can relate to him having anxiety (there are days I too would like to erase memories making me anxious).

Fiddleford peeked around the corner of the doorway that led into the ballroom, one of the biggest spaces he’d encountered in the castle that was currently filled with people. There were people from the towns in Anniera, from the Hollows (which Artham had said was in the continent next to their Island) and Skree (which was the continent across the Dark Sea). Artham had told him they were here to celebrate the war they had fought in being over for one year, which did seem celebration worthy.

Fiddleford scanned the crowd, trying to pick out someone he knew, Artham or one of the children, or even Nia or Aurendelle. He couldn’t spot any of them though, and it made him want to shrink back and slip away before he was seen by anyone.

But he had said he would try to come. This was something normal people did and he was trying very hard to become any kind of normal again. Still, looking in at the crowd of well-dressed people laughing and talking and dancing he found himself wishing for Gravity Falls, where everyone, for the most part, ignored him.

He glanced down at himself. He was wearing the new sweater Mabel had made him, which was light blue with a banjo on the front of it. The socks he had on were ones that Artham had worked very hard to make look like shoes, and so long as you didn’t look too close at them they did the job. He probably should have left his hat in his room but he felt more anxiety without it than with it on.

He didn’t look like he fit in at all.

But he had said he would try, so he had to at least do that.

Fiddleford took a deep breath and slipped into the ballroom, keeping close to the wall, in the shadows. Immediately a thousand sounds, smells and sights assaulted him. All the brightly colored clothing he had seen people wearing a moment ago now surrounded him, whirling and twisting and swaying in every direction too quick for him to make sense of it. There was the sound of music and hundreds of people talking at once, their voices all jumbled together and insensible. He could smell food but couldn’t pick out what any individual scents were.

He pressed himself against the wall, shaking. It was too much, it was far, far too much. His eyes darted around and he wrapped his arms around himself. Were people looking at him? Probably. There were voices everywhere, and too much color, it was all moving together, it was too bright, too loud, too much-

He scrambled out of the room, his breathing fast and uneven, and sped into the hallway.

****

Janner was laughing and talking with some of his old friends from the Hollows when he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned his head a little to catch what it was and frowned.

Fiddleford was standing against the wall near the door, pressed up against it. Even from here Janner could see the panic in his eyes. Janner stood on his tiptoes and looked around for uncle Artham but couldn’t see him anywhere. He turned back just in time to see Fiddleford dart out the door and into the hall.

Janner bit his lip. He turned and found Kalmar nearby, grinning and talking to Maraly Weaver. His brother would be fine for a while, and Nia was around to make sure he didn’t say anything stupid. Janner took a deep breath, excused himself from his friends and slipped into the hallway.

“Fiddleford?” he called. No response. Janner frowned. He stood in the hallway for a moment, thinking, then set off to the right.

He walked for a ways until he came to a cupboard set in the wall. He gave a little knock, but when there was no response he pulled it open.

Sharp, shallow breathing came from one corner of the cupboard. Janner peered around the shelves and saw Fiddleford curled up in the corner, knees draw up to his chest and arms covering his head. His hat sat sadly on the ground next to him.

Janner swallowed. “Fiddleford?” he said, quietly.

The man jumped like Janner had prodded him with a hot poker. He looked up at Janner with genuine terror in his eyes and tried to scramble back further into his corner. Janner felt a pang in his heart. He had seen that expression before, on his uncle.

“It’s okay,” he said, kneeling down. “It’s Janner. I’m not going to hurt you, no one’s going to hurt you.”  
Fiddleford didn’t move, he just stayed pressed up against the wall taking shaky breaths.  
Janner scooted a little further into the cupboard so he could see the man better. “It’s alright,” he said, holding up his hands. Fiddleford still wasn’t responding to him, but an idea was worming its way into Janner’s mind.  
“Your name is Fiddleford McGucket,” he said, keeping his voice low. “You’re on the Shining Isle of Anniera, in the land of Aerwiar. You used to live in Gravity Falls Oregon. You’re an inventor and you like building things.”  
Fiddleford blinked at him. He was frowning a little now, and some of the panic had faded from his expression.  
Janner continued. “My name is Janner Wingfeather. Artham Wingfeather is my uncle, and he’s one of your friends. You’re also friends with my little sister, Leeli, and my little brother, Kalmar.”

By now Fiddleford looked significantly less panicked, and he drew his knees up again and rested his chin on them, staring at nothing. Janner took a deep breath and felt the knot of tension in his chest slowly release.

“Fiddleford?” he asked, hesitantly.  
Fiddleford looked at him and gave him a pained smile before he looked away. “Hi.”  
Janner crawled over and sat across from him. “Are you okay?”  
“Yeah,” said Fiddleford, quietly. “I’m right sorry about that.”  
“It’s alright,” said Janner.   
“You all keep sayin’ that, but it ain’t really,” said Fiddleford, sound miserable. “Don’t know why I can’t just act like a normal feller.”  
Janner felt a pang in his heart. “Sometimes it’s better to not be normal,” he said.  
Fiddleford laughed and rubbed his eyes. “Don’t know if I believe that.”  
Janner looked down. “Kal used to be a lot different,” he said. “While we were on our adventures he got turned into a Grey Fang, so he looked like a little wolf, but he walked and talked like a boy. And it was really hard and everyone stared at him wherever we went and sometimes it was _terrible_ ,” he took a deep breath. “But Kal did some incredible things _because_ he was a little Fang. He saved our father’s life; when anyone else would have seen a monster, Kalmar saw someone who needed help and he risked his life to give that help. He walked into a dungeon and carried out a broken Fang that everyone had given up hope on and saved her life. He went into the Blackwood and called the cloven out and brought them to Anniera because he could understand them, because he was different too. And if he hadn’t been different our father would have died before we ever got to meet him, and all the Fangs and cloven would still be lost. It was part of the Maker’s plan that he be different- what seemed like a curse turned into a blessing. So, yeah, it’s hard to be different, but I don’t think it’s a bad thing. Different people can do incredible things because they think differently and see the world differently, and they can tell how it needs to change better than people who are normal. Because normal people think the world is fine and there isn’t anything that needs fixing, but different people see the hurt and fear and want to help.”

He looked up. Fiddleford was staring at him with his mouth hanging open.   
“W-well,” he said, finally. “D-don’t really know what to say after that, but you’ve certainly given me somethin’ to think about,” he sighed. “Still made a right fool of myself tonight though.”  
Janner shrugged. “I don’t blame you for running off. Sometimes I’d like to do that instead of being stuck with people all night.” He paused for a moment, considering, then grinned a bit. “Do you want to see my favorite hiding place?”  
Fiddleford blinked. “Well, I-I guess,” he shivered. “I just c-can’t go back to that-that-” he whimpered a little and covered his face with his hands.

Janner leaned forward and gently rested a hand on his shoulder, ignoring how he jumped at the touch. “It’s okay, you don’t have to,” he offered his hand.

After a moment Fiddleford hesitantly reached out and took it. Janner stood and pulled the man to his feet, then led him out of the cupboard and into the hall.

****

Fiddleford rubbed the persistent tears out of his eyes with his free hand and tried to focus on the warm, firm grip Janner had on his hand. It was grounding, but he still wanted to press himself up against a wall and curl up in a ball.

Janner’s words churned around in his mind, but he was too tired to focus fully on them. He wanted to think about them when his mind felt less jumbled and shaken.

He stumbled along behind the boy until they came to a great, engraved set of double doors. Fiddleford had passed the doors many times before, but he had assumed they led to somewhere he wasn’t allowed to go, since they were so ornate. Two great trees had been carved in the middle of them, and their branches weaved around pictures of books and children reading. They were beautiful, which is why he had assumed he wasn’t allowed to go inside them (or touch them).

Janner, however, had no such qualms. He pulled one of the doors open and tugged Fiddleford inside. And the sight that met his eyes took his breath away.

Rows upon rows of shelves stood inside, packed with shelves full of books. The smell of old pages hung in the air and filled him with a sense of calm he hadn’t felt in years.

“This is the castle library,” said Janner. “It’s one of my favorite places. A lot of these books we’ve been importing from Oskar’s old bookstore in Skree and I’ve been helping organize them, when I have time. It’s my favorite place in the castle.”  
“I ain’t been in a library for a long while,” said Fiddleford, wonderingly.  
“Was there one in Gravity Falls?” asked Janner, sounding a little confused.  
“Well, yeah, but I didn’t go there very often. They didn’t like me very much. Banned me, actually,” said Fiddleford, a little sheepishly.  
“How do you get banned from a library?!”   
Fiddleford looked down. “I might’a tried to eat the books a couple’a times.”

There was a pause, then Janner snorted. “That’s how Kal would get banned from a library too,” he said.  
Fiddleford grinned a little, still looking down. “Still think I ought’a be in here?”  
Janner squeezed his hand. “Absolutely. So long as you don’t try and eat any of the books again.”  
Fiddleford chuckled. “Nah, I’m past that now. Y’all are feedin’ me better’n anybody has in years anyway.”

“Alright, well, good. So you wanna look around, or?” Janner prodded.  
“I,” he swallowed, and twisted a handful of his sweater in his free hand. “If-if it ain’t too much trouble, would it be alright if I just found a nice corner to sit in?”  
“Sure!” said Janner. “I know a perfect spot.”

Janner led him to a nook tucked in the corner of the library with two plush looking chairs and a lantern sitting on a table between them. Janner lit it and the nook filled with a cozy light. Fiddleford walked over and climbed into one of the chairs. It was soft (he had forgotten that chairs could be soft) and he snuggled into it. Janner stood examining the shelves nearby for a few moments before pulling a book off one and sitting in the other chair.

Fiddleford frowned. “You’re gonna stay?”  
Janner looked up. “If you want.”  
“Well, I just, don’t’cha have a party goin’ on?” Fiddleford asked nervously. “I wouldn’t wanna keep you from it.”  
Janner shrugged. “It’s okay. I’d have started looking for a reason to get away pretty soon anyway,” he grinned. “I’ll go back in a little while and check on Kal, but he should be alright,” he settled into the chair and opened the book. “If you want to find a book to read go ahead, if not that’s fine.”  
Fiddleford hesitated, watching the boy for a few moments. When Janner didn’t move or say anything else, he slipped something out of his pocket that he was working on along with a couple little tools. He found himself wondering if he could turn it into a reading light for the boy next to him, and, with that in mind, set to tinkering.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At this point Janner is just an expert at calming people down, he's had to do it for his uncle and his brother in some VERY high stress situations, so this was easy in comparison. xD


	7. Starlight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place the same week as the Janner one, this time featuring Sara.

The moon was shining through the windows of the castle, lighting the way as Fiddleford wandered through the halls. He couldn’t sleep. There wasn’t any particular reason, so far as he could tell, thoughts weren’t racing through his head, he wasn’t working on anything, he hadn’t had any bad dreams, he just couldn’t sleep. So, in an effort to tire himself out he was wandering the castle.

A small noise reached his ears and he frowned. It sounded like someone was crying, but who else was up this late in the castle? He trotted towards the noise, his socked feet making no noise. After a few moments he came around a corner and found the source of the sound.

Sara Cobbler, the little girl who’d held his hand and taken him through the castle his first day, sat on a window seat. She was facing the window, her knees drawn up, her head resting on her arms.

And she was crying.

Fiddleford frowned. He didn’t know Sara very well. He had met her plenty of times in the castle, and he often saw her with the little Wingfeathers, but he hadn’t really talked to her much.

But he couldn’t very well just walk past and leave her crying.

He pulled his hat off and twisted it together in his hands, creeping closer. He still stopped a good ways from her window seat and hoped desperately that his presence wouldn’t upset her further. Then he took a deep breath and spoke.

“You alright there little missy?”

She jumped and turned. In the moonlight he could see tears still sliding down her face. “Oh, Fiddleford, I- hi,” she rubbed the sleeve of her nightgown over her face. “I’m- I’m alright.”  
“You couldn’t sleep neither?” he ventured.  
Sara sniffed. “No.”  
Fiddleford took a hesitant step forward. “What-what were you cryin’ about?”  
Sara bit her lip and looked down, folding her hands in her lap. “Sometimes I just- I miss the way things were before the war. I love it here on Anniera, but I miss the farm I grew up on, I miss my parents-” her voice broke a little. “Sometimes I-I just want things to be like how they were before.”

Fiddleford padded up and stopped next to the window seat. “Reckon I can understand that. The more I remember about my past the sadder I am I let it slip away.”  
Sara tilted her head. “Did you… did you have a family?” she asked, hesitantly.  
Fiddleford looked down at his socks. “Yeah. I had a wife and a son.”  
“What happened to them?”  
“Oh, well, they just, they weren’t real keen on stayin’ around when I went crazy,” he said. “Can’t say I blame ‘em fer that.”  
“They left you?”

The shock and indignation in Sara’s voice made him look up and he frowned. “Well, yeah, I guess so, but like I said I can’t say I blame ‘em.”  
“But they were your _family_ ,” insisted Sara.   
Fiddleford shrugged. “Bein’ a family’s hard, when one of you’s gone mad I reckon.”  
“But I wouldn’t have left my parents if I’d found them and they’d been turned into Fangs or cloven!” said Sara. “Well, maybe if they were Fangs and they tried to hurt me, but if they were like Artham or Kalmar I wouldn’t have left them.”  
Fiddleford shrugged. “Aw, well, I don’t know. I don’t really remember all the details from back then. But don’t get all upset on my behalf, little miss Sara, that wasn’t my intent, honest.”

Sara sighed. “I know, I just,” she looked down. “I lost my family and I so wanted them to find me again. And they never did but if they had I’d have taken them in any form they came in. Even if they were Fangs or cloven or crazy and couldn’t remember me.”  
Fiddleford nodded. “That’s right good of you.”

They were quite for a little while, lost in their own thoughts. Fiddleford wasn’t sure if he should stay or leave. On one hand he didn’t really want to leave Sara alone, but on the other hand all he’d managed to do so far was upset her more, and he didn’t want to do that either.

Sara, however, made her own decision. “Do you want to sit with me for a while?” she asked.  
He startled a little, frowning. “Well, sure, if ya want me to.”  
In answer she smiled a little and scooted over on the window seat. He scrambled up and found himself looking out the window at the thousands of stars sparkling in the sky.

“Well lookit that view,” he said. “All them stars up there shinin’ down on us like we deserve it.”  
“I like being able to see the stars,” Sara agreed. “My room has a window, but these ones are bigger. It makes me feel less closed in.”  
Fiddleford nodded. “Yeah, and them stars are always right up there waitin’ for ya. Even if there’s clouds the stars is always right behind ‘em.”  
“That, that’s a good thought, I like that,” said Sara. “It’s comforting. Maybe that’s why the Maker made them that way.”  
“They’re different than the ones where I’m from,” said Fiddleford. “Don’t know any of the names of these ones, I think I used to know some of the other ones though.”  
“Well, I don’t know a lot of them,” said Sara. “But I can show you the ones I know, if you want.”

Fiddleford looked over and saw her watching him. He grinned. “Sure! I’d love to know the names of yer stars.”  
Sara giggled and sat up on her knees. She leaned up and pressed her hands against the window. Fiddleford copied her and together they stared up at the starry sky.

“Alright,” said Sara, pointing. “See those stars that look like a dragon?”

****

It was late the next morning when Fiddleford woke up, sunlight streaming down through the window onto him. He went to try and stretch some of the stiffness out of his bones and froze when he felt something leaning against him. There, sitting next to him with her head resting on his shoulder, was Sara, still asleep. Her arms were wrapped around his hat and she looked quite content.

Fiddleford settled back, watching her. He leaned his head back against the window and smiled.

He could wait a little longer to get up, he supposed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to show Fiddleford comforting one of the kids, and then I realized he'd be in a unique position to understand Sara, and how she loves living in Anniera, but sometimes misses how things were before.


	8. Flying

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haven't done a story with both my boys in it for a while so this one features Artham. Also Hulwen because why not. Takes place the same week as the last two.

Fiddleford let out a whoop as Artham dove through the clouds. Artham beamed and spun them down as his friend cackled in delight.

He swooped out of the dive and leveled them out, waiting for Fiddleford to catch his breath. Artham had felt bad for unintentionally abandoning Fiddleford for the past week or so due to Anniera's celebrations, so, in an attempt to make it up to his friend, that morning he had offered to take him flying. He had never seen anyone so excited to fly as Fiddleford had been- he had danced a jig on the spot.

They had been in the sky for a while now and Artham had to admit that Fiddleford’s joy was contagious. Artham loved flying and the freedom that it brought, but he could do it any time he liked. However this was only the second time Fiddleford had been flying and the novelty and excitement hadn’t worn off for him yet.

Artham wasn’t sure it ever would.

“Hey Artham, what’re those colorful dots over there,” Fiddleford leaned down over his back and pointed.  
Artham’s keen eyes immediately picked out what he was talking about and he knew exactly what the “dots” were. He grinned. “Would you like to find out?”  
“You better believe I would!” yelled Fiddleford, and Artham knew he was grinning.

Artham laughed and shot towards the spots of color.

****

There was nothing in the world quite like flying through the sky with Artham.

Cold air and wind blew all around him, whipping through his clothes and hair (he had left his hat behind, for fear of losing it) and whenever Artham swooped towards the ground he had a wonderful feeling of weightlessness. It was fantastic. He hadn’t stopped grinning since they’d taken off from the castle.

He watched now as the bright dots he’d seen grew closer and slowly formed into the shape of colorful creatures soaring through the skies.

And then he realized what they were.

“Artham! Them’s dragons!” he shouted.  
Artham laughed. “Indeed they are, Fiddleford!”  
“Are- they ain’t gonna eat us or anything are they?”  
“No,” Artham chuckled. “The dragons are on very friendly terms with Anniera.”

Fiddleford remembered the children (and Stanford) talking about the dragons now, but the shock of suddenly seeing them in real life had banished all other thoughts from his mind.  
“What’re you gonna do?” he asked.  
“Well, we could go up and say hello,” said Artham, calmly, like he hadn’t just suggested they fly up and greet a group of _dragons_.  
“Think that’d be polite?” Fiddleford asked, hesitantly.  
Artham paused and Fiddleford felt them stop moving forward. “We don’t have to go over if you don’t want to. It’s a very big sky we have here in Aerwiar.”  
Fiddleford considered this. The thought of meeting the dragons made him nervous… but it also wasn’t every day a feller got to meet dragons either.

Finally, he made up his mind. “Take us over,” he said firmly.

Artham obliged. Soon he could make out the individual dragons in all their glory. They were so colorful; blue and green and orange and _red_. One of them was the brightest most shining red he’d ever seen. Their scales shimmered in the sunlight and they flew lazily, dipping down in and out of the clouds, just like he and Artham had been doing.

Artham flew them into the middle of the dragons, right next to the bright red one. They were so close Fiddleford could have reached out and touched the dragon’s wing, but he didn’t dare. He had no idea what would spook the creatures, and he didn’t want to cause trouble.

“They’re saying hello,” said Artham, suddenly.  
Fiddleford jumped. “Oh, well, howdy there, dragons.”  
Artham chuckled, and now that Fiddleford was paying attention he could see that his friend’s head was tilted as if he were listening. “Her name is Hulwen,” he said after a moment, nodding to the dragon beside him. “She wants to know who you are.”  
“Oh, well,” Fiddleford took a handful of his shirt and twisted it. “Name’s Fiddleford McGucket, at yer service, er, ma’am.”  
Artham paused for a moment, then laughed. “She says she likes you.”

Fiddleford blinked. A dragon… liked him?! That was even more absurd than humans liking him! “O-oh,” he managed. “W-well I’m right glad to hear that, though I don’t know what I did to deserve it.”

Suddenly the dragon turned her long slender neck and looked back at him, great bright eyes staring deeply into his own. Fiddleford felt a jolt of terror run through him, and in a panic grabbed hold of Artham’s feathers.

****

_‘You’re frightening him.’_

Artham’s tone was slightly accusatory and he leveled a glare at Hulwen. The dragon snorted and turned away from them.

_‘I wanted to see. He is a funny little human.’_ She said.  
_‘He’s been through a lot- be kind to him.’_  
_‘Mmm. Tell him I’m not angry, only curious.’_

“She said she only was curious about what you looked like,” Artham said aloud to Fiddleford, who was still clutching his feathers very tightly. “She didn’t mean anything.”

If it had been anyone else and if Fiddleford had been any less terrified, Artham would have politely asked him to let go of his wings. But Fiddleford had never seen dragons before and knew nothing of their moods. He didn’t know that Hulwen was kind and good and full of compassion. He had never met Yurgen in all his wrath and fury (and Artham was glad of that). So Fiddleford had a right to be terrified.

It just hurt having his feathers squeezed like that.

Gradually Fiddleford relaxed his hold. “R-r-right. Th-th-that’s alr-r-right.”

_‘Is there something I could do to make him less afraid?’_ Hulwen asked.  
_‘Hmmm…’_ “She wants to know what she can do to make you less afraid,” he told Fiddleford.  
“O-o-oh,” Fiddleford sounded deeply confused. “W-well, I ‘preciate that, but I-I-I’m okay.”  
Artham knew he was lying and wracked his mind for a solution. It was obvious, once he realized it. “Fiddleford, you’ve never heard the story of how the dragons got their wings, have you?”  
“N-n-no,” managed Fiddleford, still sounding confused.  
“Well,” said Artham. “There was a great battle, the last battle against Gnag the Nameless and his Fangs. And Kalmar’s army was losing. The dragons had come to help, but Gnag had- he had transformed himself into a beast of great power and the dragons, in their courage, had attacked him. But they had neither legs nor wings to escape his wrath and were mortally wounded. And that would have been the end of them if not for a friend of Janner and Kalmar’s. He brought reinforcements, and water from the First Well, which can heal any injury- and even bring someone back to life. Janner and Leeli gave the water to the dragons and for the first time in centuries the dragons flew,” Artham grinned. “And the very first dragon rider in all those many centuries was a tiny girl with a whistleharp.”

Fiddleford was silent for a long moment before he whispered, “Leeli?”  
Artham laughed, and so did Hulwen, in his mind. “Yes!”  
_‘Her song bore me up,’_ said Hulwen.  
“ _Leeli rode a dragon?!_ ” Fiddleford yelped incredulously.  
“She’s done it more than once now,” said Artham, still grinning. “So, you see, there’s nothing really to be afraid of.”  
“I-I guess not, iffin the dragons wouldn’t hurt a little thing like Leeli. You must be a right gentle lot then,” Fiddleford said.  
_‘When we wish to be,’_ said Hulwen. _‘We are very fond of the children and those living in Anniera. They were restored as we were. You have nothing to fear from us, so long as you remain a friend of Anniera.’_

“She says that they are gentle when they want to be,” said Artham. “And that they love the children and Anniera, and that you have nothing to fear from the dragons so long as you remain our friend.”  
“Well that’s- that’s right good of ‘em,” said Fiddleford. “And I love them kids too, so they don’t got nothin’ to worry about there.”  
_‘Good,’_ said Hulwen. _‘There are still many dangers in this world, especially to ones so young. They will need protectors and those who are older and wiser to advise them.’_  
Artham hesitated, but it would be rude not to translate Hulwen’s words, so he took a deep breath and hoped they wouldn’t be too overwhelming for Fiddleford. “She says it’s good you care for the children, because the world is a dangerous place and they’ll need people to help and advise them.”  
“O-oh, well, I’m-I'm not sure I’m cut out for advisin’, ma’am,” stammered Fiddleford. “I ain’t all that wise, y’see.”  
_‘Those who have been broken have the greatest wisdom,’_ said Hulwen simply.

Artham blinked. “She… she says that ‘Those who have been broken have the greatest wisdom’.”

And he suddenly had a feeling that that message was meant for both of them.

****

Fiddleford didn’t know what to say to the dragon or Artham, but he felt that he ought to do _something_.

So, very hesitantly, he reached out and patted the very edge of Hulwen’s wing, then yanked back his hand like it had burned him. “Th-that’s right kind of you to say, miss Hulwen,” he said, his voice shaking a little again.

He felt Artham take a breath. “She says you’re welcome and that she doesn’t mind being touched,” he paused. “And she’s asking if we want to keep flying with them.”  
Fiddleford hesitated. “You ain’t tired yet, are you?”  
Artham chuckled. “Not terribly, are you?”  
“Aw, shucks, I ain’t the one doin’ any work,” said Fiddleford. “You wanna keep flying with ‘em?”  
“I wouldn’t mind if we did, but it’s up to you.”

Fiddleford looked around at the sea of color surrounding them, then back to Hulwen beside him. Gently he reached out and laid his hand on her wing again.  
“I’d consider it a great honor to keep a’flyin’ with you, miss Hulwen,” he said finally.  
The air around him suddenly seemed to vibrate, and he could feel the dragon’s approval rather than feel it. Artham chuckled.

“She says she’s happy to fly with us as well. And that you ought to hang on.”  
“Why’s that?” asked Fiddleford, tightening his hold all the same.

In answer, Artham and the dragons suddenly swooped down towards the ground as one and all the breath rushed out of him.

A delighted laugh burst out of him and when he could breathe again he shouted into the sky, “I’M FIDDLEFORD MCGUCKET AND I’M FLYIN’ WITH DRAGONS!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It only took 30+ years, but Fiddleford finally had an encounter with a supernatural creature that didn't scar him for life! :D


	9. Flowers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place about a month and a half after Fiddleford comes to Anniera. Featuring Aurendelle.

It was a warm day, the sun was shining down upon the land, making everything greener and brighter. The sky was blue, with white puffy clouds crawling lazily through it. It was a perfectly lovely day.

This was why Fiddleford had decided to go wandering around the castle grounds. Artham and the boys were training together and Nia had taken Leeli and Sara off to do something, so he walked by himself. Not that he minded. He was getting used to the castle, and it was slowly coming to feel like more of a home rather than simply a place he was staying.

So he walked by himself. He had wandered near the gardens and as he got close to them he saw a row of little potted plants sitting on a bench. He trotted up and looked them over. They were little flowers and herb plants. One white flower was still very small, and he picked up the pot to study it.

“Howdy there little fella,” he said to the little flower, grinning. “Y’all are waitin’ to get planted I reckon. Well don’t you worry, you’ll grow up an’ be the most beautiful of the lot I wager. An’ all plants start out as little fellers, don’t let nobody tell you otherwise.”

He reached out and gently ran a finger over its one little leaf. Then he set down the pot with the others again. “Well, I’ll look forward to seein’ you all around the castle, bye for now.”

He was walking away when he heard a small _clunkcrash_ he jumped and turned around to find that the little white flower’s pot had tumbled off the bench and broken on the path.

“Oh no,” he hissed, panic welling up in him. He dashed over and started desperately picking up the pieces of the broken pot and trying to put them back together.  
“Oh nononono,” he suddenly felt a stab of pain in one of his fingers and yanked his hand back, staring at the drops of blood starting to form. One of the shards of the pot must have cut him. He wiped the blood absently on his pants as his gaze returned to his problem.

“I broke it,” he whimpered.

He was very good at making things, but more often than not it seemed he was better at breaking things. He should have known better than to bother the flowers, he knew he couldn’t be trusted with anything fragile. And someone was bound to find out, and when they did what would they do? He had broken things here before but they had been his things and the flowers definitely weren’t his. Oh no. He’d broken something that belonged to someone else. They’d be angry. The Wingfeathers would finally start to see he wasn’t good for anything (he wasn’t sure how he’d fooled them so long) and they’d probably start noticing all the other things he messed up and did wrong and then they’d want to get rid of him and, and-

“Fiddleford?”

He jerked his head up in surprise at the soft voice. When had he curled up on the ground? He was breathing too fast again, there were too many thoughts in his head-

“Are you alright?”

He forced himself to focus for a moment at the woman talking to him. She had a nice warm face with soft eyes that looked worried. After a moment he recognized her as Aurendelle, Artham’s wife. She was nice, but there was something about her that was different that he didn’t really understand and it made him nervous.

“I-” he took a shuddery breath. His throat still felt tight and it was hard to talk.  
“You’ve got blood and dirt all over you, are you alright?” asked Aurendelle.  
He blinked. Blood? Where- oh, right, his finger. Silently he unwrapped his arms from around himself and showed her his hand.  
“Ah,” she said. “I see. We should probably get that bandaged up.”

Carefully he eased himself up into a sitting position and unconsciously shrank away from her. His eyes darted around, taking in the watering can and little shovel sitting beside her and a jolt went through him.

He swallowed hard. “Th-those yer plants?” he asked, his voice low and shaky.  
She smiled a little. “Yes. Why?”  
He looked down. “I broke yer pot,” he whispered.  
Aurendelle turned and looked over at the plants then back at him. “That’s alright. I’m re-planting them today anyway. Is that how you cut your finger?”  
He nodded.

“Alright, well let’s start by getting that fixed up,” she said, standing and offering him a hand.  
He hesitated. “You ain’t mad?”  
“No,” Aurendelle smiled a little. “I don’t think you meant any harm. Now come on.”

He reached out and let her help him up, then pulled his hand back and wrapped his arms around himself.  
“Come on,” said Aurendelle, beckoning for him to follow her.  
She led him to a cupboard stocked with medical supplies, pulled out a small box and walked back out. He followed her to a pump near the garden and watched her uncertainly.  
“Put your hand under the water and wash the dirt off it,” she told him. “Then I’ll wrap up your finger.”  
“I-I’ll be alright, you don’t need to go to any trouble on my account,” he said.  
“It’s not any trouble,” said Aurendelle, calmly. “And besides, I don’t want you bleeding all over the castle- there are people here who wouldn’t take that very well.”  
He blinked. “Oh. Well, er, alright then.”

He did what she told him and she wrapped a bandage snuggly around his finger, taping a little waterproof cap over it to keep out moisture. “There,” she said, and smiled as brightly as the sunshine. “Now, do you want to help me with my planting?”  
He blinked. “Well, I- are y’sure you want me to, ma’am, after I-” he squeezed his hands together nervously.  
“It’s perfectly alright,” she said firmly. “Now come along and you can help me fix it.”

He followed her, but he still wasn’t sure if she ought to trust him with her little plants. Likely he’d snap one in half by accident, or bury one in too much dirt, or-  
“Alright,” said Aurendelle. She had gathered up her gardening tools. “Now grab a couple of those pots and follow me. Put the flower from the broken pot in with one of the others for now, and try to gather up as much of the dirt from it as you can.”  
“Y-yes ma’am,” he said and hurried to do as she’d said.

A few moments later he was following her down the garden path, very carefully cradling a pair of pots in his arms. She led him to a little empty spot and knelt down and showed him how big to make the holes for each plant. Then she got up and went back to get more of the flowers.

Fiddleford did exactly what she’d told him, and dug eight perfect little holes. He didn’t care try to take any of the plants out yet though, not after earlier.

Aurendelle returned and he could feel her staring at him. He fidgeted nervously, but didn’t look up. Finally she spoke.  
“You’ve done this before,” she said in her quiet voice.  
He blinked, surprised. “Well, er, I reckon I have. I used to live on a farm, when I was a little feller.”  
“Ah,” said Aurendelle, kneeling down beside him. “Do you remember how to plant them?”  
“Well, er, I suppose so, but I didn’t know if you’d want me to after earlier.”

She gently reached out and set a hand on his shoulder. He jumped but didn’t pull away. “By all means, if you remember how, plant them,” she said.  
“Well okay then,” he shrugged and looked over at his little flower. “Reckon I owe this little one a new home first,” he said, scooping it up. “I’m right sorry about earlier little feller,” he told it solemnly.  
Aurendelle chuckled. “They like that.”  
“Eh?”  
“The flowers. They like being talked to.”  
“Oh, well, that’s good,” said Fiddleford, gently setting the little white flower in the ground and patting dirt around it. “That’s what I always heard.”  
“It’s true,” she said, softly. “I should know, anyway.”  
He frowned. Something about how she said that was strange. “If-if you don’t mind my askin’ ma’am, what d’ya mean?”

Aurendelle was quiet for a few moments, but when he looked over she was smiling a bit, though her eyes were distant.  
“I used to be a tree,” she said finally.

He stared at her. “You _what_?”  
She laughed, then her expression sobered. “Gnag did many experiments when he was creating the cloven. Most of our people he merged with animals, but I was combined with a tree.”  
“What-what was that like?” Fiddleford asked. “Did ya, could ya move or anythin’?”  
“Yes I could move,” Aurendelle nodded. “And talk and see. But it was very different than being a human. Everything was slower and more enduring. I was more connected to and aware of growing things and the animals, of all kinds of life. It was very strange to find myself human again after that.”  
Fiddleford considered this. “I read about creatures like that once I think. They lived in a book, or maybe it was a book series? I don’t recall, but there were trees that talked and moved around an’ I think they did somethin’ to help stop an evil wizard,” he scratched his head and thought very hard for a moment. “ _Lord o’ the Rings_! That’s what it was!” he said triumphantly.  
“I’ll have to ask Dipper and Mabel about it the next time they’re here,” said Aurendelle thoughtfully. “I should like to read about those creatures.”  
Fiddleford nodded. “Can’t rightly remember what they’re called. It’s been a long time since I read them books, I couldn’t’ve been much older’n Janner and Kalmar.”  
“Well I will certainly look into it,” said Aurendelle. “I’m sure the children will let you read it as well. Now,” she looked over at him. “Would you like to keep helping?”  
“Well, sure ma’am, if you’ll let me stay,” he said with a hesitant smile.  
She smiled back. “I certainly will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think my first reaction to Aurendelle in The Warden and the Wolf King was, "She's an Ent!" though she's actually more like one of the Hurons in how she looks and moves. (Though she seemed to have more of the personality of an Ent or an Entwife when it came to the living things around her) So of course I had to bring this up somehow. And I definitely believe young Fiddleford would have read LOTR at some point.  
> Fun fact: Dipper definitely already lent Janner a copy of Lord of the Rings and as soon as Janner gets to the part with the ents and moving trees he's gonna find Aurendelle and be like, "You have to read this!" and she's going to look at it and go, "Oh yes, this is the book Fiddleford was telling me about." and Janner will be confused.  
> Bonus: Leeli hears them going on about talking trees and brings up the book series Mabel lent her, "The Chronicles of Narnia" (which Fiddleford also vaguely remembers reading they discover).


	10. Annieran

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fiddleford will tell you how long he's been in Anniera in the story. This story features Armulyn the bard, Galya, and Sara's orphans!

“I can’t believe we lost him, how did we lose him?!” yelped Kal.  
“That’s something I have wondered about you more times than I can count,” said Janner, sighing.  
“He can’t have gotten too far,” said Leeli.  
“Well then we have to find him!” said Kal, running a hand through his hair. “Split up. Janner, you come with me, Leeli you and Sara go together.”  
“I’m sure he’s fine, Kal,” Janner said as confidently as he could.  
“And probably if we just start looking we’ll find him in no time,” Sara added.

So without further ado, the children split up and dashed around the Annieran marketplace to look for their misplaced Fiddleford.

****

Earlier that day

Fiddleford hopped off the cart with the Wingfeather children and regarded the village before him. It was small, smaller than Gravity Falls, but there seemed to be considerably more people around. The smell of the sea was in the air, along with that of fresh baked bread and something he had learned was called limpiny stew. People bustled about around small shops and brightly colored booths that reminded him of the Gravity Falls swap meet. Everyone seemed cheerful, from what he could tell- he didn’t hear any angry yelling, at any rate. Just people trying to sell their wares.

“Sure are a lota people here,” he said.  
“It’s a market day!” Leeli told him cheerfully. “The Hollowsfolk have started coming over for them, and sometimes we get merchants from other places!”  
“Which is good, because Anniera doesn’t have a whole lot yet, which is why we have to bring some things back to the castle- _right Kal_?” said Janner.  
Kalmar jumped, and looked slightly guilty as he trotted back towards them. He had been starting to make his way towards the town’s bakery. “I was just gonna get us some snacks!”  
“We have snacks, Kal, remember?” said Sara, holding up a basket and raising an eyebrow.  
“I know, I know, but we might need more later,” said Kal. “And anyway, when mama packed that for us she didn’t know we were gonna bring Fiddleford, I’m just making sure we have enough.”

This was true. The children had invited him spur of the moment. They had said it would be good for him to get to see Anniera’s countryside close up (as opposed to from high up in the air, flying with Artham) and to visit one of her towns. They had been so excited to show him everything that he couldn’t help but agree to come.

“We’ll be fine, Kal,” said Sara, shaking her head. “There’s plenty of food. Now maybe we should get going before everyone buys what we need.”  
Kal’s ears turned red and Leeli giggled. Fiddleford grinned. It was nice to see them acting like kids in their natural habitat, as it were.

“Sara’s right, let’s get going,” said Janner. “C’mon, Kal, maybe we can get scones later or something.”  
“And bibes from the Hollowsfolk!” added Leeli.  
“Mmm, bibes and scones,” Kal grinned. “Alright! C’mon everyone, follow the king!”

The other three children collectively rolled their eyes and dashed after him. Fiddleford stuck close to them and hoped he wouldn’t get lost in the press of people.

As soon as they dove into the crowd all the sights, sounds and smells that had previously been bearable were suddenly overwhelming. The shock of it all slammed into him and he froze, trying desperately to make sense of it all. The colors were a blur and the sounds and smells were all jumbled, it was too much-

He ran, not sure where he was going, and not stopping until there were no people around him and the noises were blessedly muted. He sat on the ground and pressed his head into his hands, wishing yet again that he could just be _normal_.

Suddenly he jerked his head up and panic shot through his veins. The kids! He’d lost them! He had no idea where they were going or how to get back to their wagon or how to get back to the castle-

His breath started coming in short gasps and the world suddenly felt unstable. He was lost. What if he could find them? What if he couldn’t figure out how to get back to the castle? What if-

“Are you alright, sir?”

He jumped. A little girl stood there, watching him. She couldn’t have been more than seven or eight.

He looked at her and tried to figure out how to form words again. He swallowed and scooted back up against- against, where was he anyway? He looked around and realized he was in an alleyway, with two cottage-like buildings on either side of him.

The girl took a step closer and his eyes shot to her. She stopped.  
“Don’t be scared,” she said. “It’s okay. My name’s Lola, what’s yours?”  
He blinked. “I, er, well, F-Fiddleford.”  
She smiled. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Lola! Lola there you are!” an older girl, maybe Kalmar’s age, came into the alley. “You shouldn’t run off like that!”  
“Why?” Lola asked. “There aren’t Fangs anymore.”  
“No,” said the older girl. “But it’s very busy today, and there are still plenty of bad people in the world.”

Then her eyes landed on Fiddleford and she froze.

“Oh, it’s alright,” he said quickly, holding up his hands. “I ain’t one of those bad people.”  
The girl tilted her head and appraised him thoughtfully. “I didn’t think you were. What are you doing in an alleyway?”  
“Er, well, I guess I’m lost,” he looked down.  
“Can we help him?” asked Lola.  
There was a pause, and Fiddleford expected the other girl to say no and drag the little one away.  
Instead, however, he heard her say, “Sure,” and walk over to him. Before he could quite process that he saw a hand sticking out in front of him. He looked up and saw the girl smiling at him.  
“My name’s Galya,” she said. “We can help you find where you’re supposed to be, the kids here know where everything is.”  
Fiddleford hesitated, then took her hand. “Well, I appreciate that, but I ain’t lost a place, but some people.”  
Galya helped him up and Lola walked over. “Who did you lose?” the younger girl asked.  
“Eh, four kids, ‘bout your age,” he pointed to Galya. “Named Janner, Kalmar, Leeli and Sara. Got separated from them in the crowd.”  
Galya blinked, then grinned. “The Wingfeathers!”  
Lola tugged his sleeve. “You know Queen Sara?”  
He blinked. “Er, well I know a little girl named Sara, don’t know iffin she’s a queen.”  
Lola giggled. “She was in Skree! She looked after us,” she gasped. “You’re the man she told us to look out for!” she said, bouncing a little.  
“Sara told you to look out for me?” Fiddleford asked, getting more confused by the moment.  
“Uh-huh!” Lola beamed. “She told us to watch for a man with a funny hat and a beard and be nice to you if we saw you!”  
“Oh, well, that was right good of her,” said Fiddleford, still confused.

Lola reached down and took one of his hands and Galya grinned and took the other. Together they led him out of the alleyway.

Everything outside the alley was still very loud and bright and unsettling, but Fiddleford felt more grounded with the two children hanging onto him. They hadn’t gone very far when there was a shout and a boy about Leeli’s age ran up with a little girl who looked the same age as Lola.

“Galya there you are! I thought we were going down to the beach,” said the boy.  
“We found a more pressing matter,” said Galya.  
“This is the man queen Sara told us about!” said Lola cheerfully, swinging Fiddleford’s hand back and forth. “He’s lost the Wingfeathers and queen Sara!”  
“Oh. Oh!” said the boy. He grinned and gave a bow that made the girls giggle. “Cliffin at your service, sir.”  
Fiddleford took off his hat and bowed back. “Fiddleford McGucket at yours little feller!”  
“And I’m Layna!” announced the little girl. She looked up at Galya. “Are we going to help him find queen Sara?”  
“Yes we are,” said Galya. “Cliffin, go tell the other children to be on the lookout for Sara and the Wingfeathers, and if you find them tell them we’re looking after their friend.”  
“Will do!” said Cliffin, darting off and vanishing into the crowd.  
“Come on then,” said Galya, leading them on again. Layna came around and took Lola’s hand and smiled at Fiddleford.

Fiddleford was beginning to be amused by the situation and his escort of children. There was a part of him that was ashamed for needing it, but he was pleased that he could still see the humor in it as well.

They had been walking for a little while when suddenly a voice called out of the crowd. “Hello, children! What adventures are you on today?”  
The children lit up like birthday candles. “Armulyn!” called Lola and Layna and they ran towards a grinning man with a whistleharp. Fiddleford thought he looked kind.

“We’re helping a friend of queen Sara’s!” Lola announced proudly.  
“He’s lost Sara and the Wingfeathers,” Layna added.  
“A noble quest for such fine maidens as yourselves!” said Armulyn. He looked at Fiddleford and nodded. “Good day to you. I suppose you’re the one who’s lost the children.”  
Fiddleford grinned. He wasn’t sure exactly why, but he liked this man. Maybe it was that he had a way with the children, or maybe it was just that he was carrying an instrument around with him. But Fiddleford liked him.

“I reckon I am,” said Fiddleford. “Name’s Fiddleford.”  
“Armulyn the Bard at your service, Fiddleford,” said the man, bowing grandly. “And if it’s the Wingfeather children you need I may be able to help you.”  
“I’d sure appreciate that,” said Fiddleford. “If it ain’t no trouble.”  
“No trouble at all,” said Armulyn, waving a hand.   
“What are you going to do?” asked Galya.  
“I’m going to call them,” said Armulyn, with a mischievous glint in his eye.  
“How?” asked Layna.  
“With this!” said Armulyn, holding up his whistleharp.   
“Yer gonna send a song to Leeli,” Fiddleford realized.  
Armulyn grinned at him and nodded. “Exactly! Listen well, children, for this is how you call a Song Maiden.”

He lifted the whistleharp to his lips and began to play. He was right good at it, Fiddleford thought, though not as good as Leeli. He played a song Fiddleford hadn’t heard before. The girls listened, entranced, and out of the corner of his eye Fiddleford saw more children trotting up to listen, and some grown-ups too. By the time Armulyn finished there was a small crowd, and they clapped and cheered, and a few people offered the musician coins and food, then they went on their way.

“Now,” said Armulyn, leading them into the shade of a building nearby and sitting on the ground. “We wait.”

****

Leeli froze and tilted her head. “Do you hear that?”  
“Hear what?” asked Sara.  
“Music,” she said, turning towards the sound. “That way.”  
Sara tilted her head and listened. “Oh I hear it now,” she grinned. “It sounds like Armulyn.”  
“I’m pretty sure it is,” said Leeli. “But the song he’s playing is called, “Oh what a friend I’ve found”.”  
Sara blinked. “You don’t think…”  
Leeli shrugged. “It’s worth a shot.”

With a grin at each other the two girls hurried off in pursuit of the music.

****

“So I see you don’t wear shoes,” said Armulyn.  
Fiddleford looked down at his socks. “Nope. Don’t like ‘em. Too tight and heavy.”  
Armulyn nodded. “I went without shoes for a long time. I still often don’t wear them. I like to feel the grass and dirt under my toes.”  
“I bet if you asked Artham he’d knit you some socks,” said Fiddleford. “That’s where I got mine.”  
Armulyn blinked. “You know Artham Wingfeather?”  
“Well yeah! He’s- well, I guess he’s my best friend now,” said Fiddleford, glancing down.  
“Is he the man with the wings?” asked Cliffin, who had rejoined them.  
“Yes,” said Lola. “I think he’s very kind.”  
“He is very kind, little lady,” said Fiddleford. “He’s one of the best people I know.”  
“So you live at the castle?” Galya asked.  
“Yep! Have for almost two months now,” Fiddleford frowned. “Actually I think this is the first time I’ve left since I came here.”  
“Did you get lost in the castle too, and that’s why you haven’t been out?” asked Layna with wide eyes.  
Fiddleford chuckled. “Nah. It’s just so nice up there I didn’t see no reason to leave. But then I came down here and got to meet all you people, so it ain’t so bad! I’m right grateful for all your help, by the way.”  
“It’s no trouble,” said Armulyn. “We’re always happy to help a fellow Annieran, aren’t we children?”  
The children cheered, but Fiddleford frowned and shook his head. “Oh, well, I-I ain’t an Annieran.”  
“But you’re living at the castle,” said Armulyn. “And you know the Wingfeathers.”  
“Well, yeah, but I don’t, I don’t really,” Fiddleford looked down. “I don’t really belong here, I guess. Or anywhere, really.”

Galya came over and sat next to him. “Did Kalmar tell you you could stay?” she asked.  
Fiddleford looked up at her in surprise. “Well, yeah, yeah he did.”  
“Then that’s all that matters,” said Galya. “The Annierans are all the people who don’t belong anywhere else,” she looked down. “Like me, I was a Fang.”  
“And we’re orphans from Skree,” said Cliffin.  
“And I wandered for years longing for a home and a place I didn’t know existed until I came here,” said Armulyn.  
“But we all came and Kalmar told us we could stay and belong here,” said Galya. “And now this is our home,” she reached out and patted his hand. “You’re as much an Annieran as the rest of us.”

Fiddleford blinked and realized there were tears in his eyes. “Well I, I don’t rightly know what to say to that, but thank you, little lady. I guess- I guess maybe I could belong here,” he gave them a hesitant little smile, which they all returned.

“Fiddleford, there you are!”

He whipped around and, wonder of wonders, there were Leeli and Sara. He wiped the tears out of his eyes and grinned at them.

Before he could say anything though, Layna, Lola and Cliffin exclaimed, “Queen Sara!” and dashed over to the girl. Sara looked surprised, but then started to grin.  
“We found your friend!” said Lola, eagerly.  
“I see that,” said Sara. “Well done, all of you.”  
“Hello Armulyn,” Leeli waved.  
“Hello little princess!” grinned Armulyn, waving back.

Then suddenly there was a shout of, “There they are!” and Janner and Kalmar burst out of the crowd, panting.

“I told you we’d find him!” said Kal, triumphantly.  
Janner rolled his eyes. “You were more worried than I was.”  
Kal turned and started. “Galya?! What are you doing here?”  
The girl snorted and stood, dusting her skirt off. “Hi to you too, king Kalmar,” she said, curtseying. “Like the others said, I was helping your friend.”  
Kal’s ears reddened, but he grinned at her.  
“And that was your music,” said Janner, pointing to Armulyn.  
“Indeed it was, young Throne Warden!” said Armulyn, bowing to the brothers.  
“And they all were mighty helpful,” Fiddleford informed them. “Got me found right quick they did.”  
“I’m so glad they did!” said Leeli, hopping up to him giving him a hug.

“Well,” said Janner, when they had finished exchanging greetings. “We’d better hurry if we want to get everything we need and be home by sundown.”  
“But first,” said Kal. “I was promised scones and bibes!”

They all laughed, and the Wingfeathers, Fiddleford, Sara’s children and Armulyn walked off together to find those very things- this time with Leeli and Sara holding tight to Fiddleford’s hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kalmar, not used to being the one who loses people: OH MY GOSH WE GOTTA FIND HIM  
> Janner, who loses Kal every other day: This is fine.
> 
> I just really wanted to write a story where Fiddleford ended up surrounded by random small children and since I now FINALLY have "The Warden and the Wolf King" I can look up the names of all these kids. I wasn't going to have Armulyn show up, but then I thought about it and decided Fiddleford would definitely be friends with the guy who was always described as wandering around barefoot with an instrument and this happened.


	11. Kitten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is officially the most self indulgent thing I have ever published.
> 
> I do not know exactly when this takes place, I think it's after a few of the other stories I'm going to post soon, but, well, the kitten in it is based off my cat, Dora, who died a year ago today (11/1/19) and I just suddenly wanted to write this. So I did. Dora was my dearest friend and 18 years old when she died (I had her from the time I was 5 to the time I was 23) and I had already decided to write her into every original book I write. Now she gets to be in one of my fanfics too.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy Fiddleford acquiring a kitten.

Fiddleford was sitting outside the castle on a bench, humming as he tinkered. He was trying to make a booklight for Janner. He was so engrossed with his task that at first he didn’t register an increasingly loud wailing sound.

Then he frowned and lifted his head. A shriek rent the air, and Fiddleford knew enough about animals to realize that whatever creature it was it was in distress. He hopped up and set his tools down then started peering into every potential hiding spot he could find.

“Where you at little critter?” he called. A particularly loud yowl answered, and after a moment he knelt down in front of little hole between two pieces of wood standing up against the castle. Two wide, bright eyes stared back out at him.

“Hey there,” he said, sticking his hand into the hole for it to sniff. His answer was a scratch and a hiss, and he pulled his hand back. A little grin came over his face. “Fiesty critter, ain’t you? Look, it’s alright, I ain’t gonna hurt you,” he tried to keep his voice soft, but the little creature hissed at him again.

“Hmm,” he dug around in his pockets. “Aha! There we are,” he pulled out a little piece of jerky and offered it, his hand hovering at the entrance of the hole.  
The little creature crept forward and sniffed his offering. It took out of his fingers and gnawed on it. Carefully, Fiddleford picked it up and cradled it against his chest.

It was a kitten. A tiny, incredibly fluffy, brown kitten. It finished the piece of jerky and looked up at him, giving him a little mew.  
“There ya go, see, I ain’t so bad,” he grinned, gently running his hand over its fur. “You’re just a little thing, what’re you doing out here all by yourself?”  
“Mew,” answered the kitten.  
“Suspected as much,” said Fiddleford. “Well you’re old enough to eat hard food, so you gotta be around 8 weeks old, huh?”  
The kitten gazed up at him seriously for a moment, then batted a paw through his beard and tried to bite it.   
He chuckled. “Guess yer still hungry, huh? Alright, c’mon, there’s better things to eat around here than me.” He stood, still holding the kitten carefully, and headed for the kitchen.

****

“Hi, Fiddleford,” said Sara cheerfully as he walked in.  
“Hello miss Sara,” he said, nodding. “You got any scraps of meat around?”  
“I think so,” said Sara. “What do you have there?”  
“It’s a little kitten,” said Fiddleford.  
“Aww!” Sara walked over to look at the little ball of fluff. “Is it a boy or a girl?”  
“Haven’t checked yet, little feller was hungry,” Fiddleford chuckled. “Thought my beard was a nice snack, told it I could find somethin’ better.”  
Sara giggled. She reached out a hand and ran it over the kitten’s head. When she pulled her hand back the kitten shook its head and sneezed.   
Sara bit her lip and grinned. “I’ll see what I can find.”

Fiddleford sat down on one of the kitchen stools out of the way of the staff and set the kitten on a counter. It looked around curiously and trotted back and forth. He saw several of the other people in the kitchen watching it and grinning.

“You’re gonna be real popular, I can tell,” he told it. “Gonna have to name ya.”  
“Mew,” said the kitten.  
“Figured you’d like that,” nodded Fiddleford.

It didn’t take long for Sara to return with some meat scraps. She handed them to Fiddleford and sat on another stool. The kitten smelled the food and trotted over to Fiddleford, nuzzling his hand. He chuckled, and set the scraps down in front of it. It ate hungrily and started to purr quietly as it did.

“Are you going to keep it?” Sara asked.  
Fiddleford shrugged. “Don’t know what else I’d do with it. Sure is a cute little feller.”  
“It is,” agreed Sara. “You should show Leeli. She’ll love it.”  
“I’ll be certain to do that,” Fiddleford nodded. The kitten finished eating and started to lick his fingers. He chuckled and picked it up, holding it against him again. It purred louder, and nuzzled against his sweater. It yawned, showing a little pink tongue and sharp teeth, then curled up in Fiddleford’s arms.

“I guess you’d better take it to bed,” grinned Sara.  
“Poor little mite’s worn out,” Fiddleford agreed. “It was screamin’ somethin’ terrible when I found it. Must’ve lost its family.”  
“Well, it’s very lucky you found it then,” said Sara.  
“Heh, yeah. Guess I am good for somethin’ sometimes,” he said, scratching the kitten’s head.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up to see Sara watching him with a serious expression. “You’re good for a lot of things, all the time,” she said. “Now go take that kitten and make it a nice bed.”  
Fiddleford ducked his head, a little grin on his face. “Yes ma’am.”

****

The kitten, he discovered, was a girl, and she wanted to be with him every minute of the day and night. She tried to help him when he was tinkering (by climbing over his tools and chasing anything he picked up), and constantly tried to climb into his lap. At night she climbed into his blanket nest and snuggled up under his chin, purring.

He welcomed the constant companionship. It was nice to have someone who he couldn’t deny wanted to be around him. Human beings could pretend to like him, but a two-month-old kitten couldn’t. When he walked through the halls of the castle the kitten trotted along with him, following steadfastly. Sometimes he carried her, but usually she could keep up and would wiggle out of his grasp if she wasn’t tired.

The kitten also liked the children, which was only natural. She especially seemed to enjoy Leeli and Sara’s company, but she always returned to Fiddleford after her “playdates”.

He really needed to give her a name. She had been in the castle with them for almost a week now but he just couldn’t figure out what to call her. He’d tried out lots of names, but none seemed to fit. Leeli and Sara had suggested plenty of names, Kalmar had made up a few, and Janner had even looked through books of genealogies trying to find a good one. None of them stuck.

He was sitting on the lawn outside the castle one day, watching his little friend dash around in the grass chasing bugs. Artham sat next to him, the two of them enjoying the quiet companionship.

“What do you think, Artham?” Fiddleford asked. “Been tryin’ to find a name for the little mite, got any suggestions?”  
Artham considered this, then shrugged. “Have you tried naming her things from your world?”  
“Yeah, none of ‘em fit,” sighed Fiddleford. “I didn’t think it’d be this hard to name a kitten.”  
“It’s an important thing,” said Artham. “She could be your friend for a very long time, after all.”  
“Suppose that’s true. Still, I gotta name her somethin’ soon.”  
“Is there anyone in your family you’d like to remember?” Artham asked after a moment.  
“Well,” Fiddleford took off his hat and scratched his head. “Hmm, you mean like, people who’ve died?”  
Artham nodded. “Sure, they could be. Or just someone you don’t see anymore that you want to remember.”  
Fiddleford considered this. He remembered most of his family now, and usually if he thought about it he could remember their names. He sifted through them for a few minutes, then suddenly chuckled.

“What?” asked Artham, looking amused.  
“Well,” Fiddleford grinned. “When I was a little feller I had a grandma who was right fierce. She’d never let us get away with nothin’. But she cared about us an awful lot and was always real fond of us kids comin’ over. Her first name was Dora. Reckon I could name the little fuzzball that.”

The kitten suddenly stopped, ears pricked, and trotted over to him. He laughed.  
“Aw, you don’t know your name already, don’t think I believe that,” he said, scratching her head. “You jus’ know I’m talkin’ about you, don’t ya? Smart little critter. You like that name, eh? Dora?”  
The kitten rubbed his hand and purred, then looked up at him and gave him a soft, “Mew.” that he took as approval.  
“It suits her,” said Artham, nodding. “Little Dora.”  
“She’s the fluffiest cat I ever seen,” said Fiddleford, patting the kitten. “With hair like that an’ a name like Dora you’re gonna be a right spitfire I can tell.”

And as Dora gazed up at him her with bright green eyes, Fiddleford could have sworn she was smiling at him.


	12. Apologies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, welp, this chapter takes place about 3 months after Fiddleford comes to live in Anniera, not long after the ending of the one with Kalmar. Featuring Podo.  
> (also, if you're like me and ever wanted Podo and Artham to reconcile with each other then this is for you)
> 
> None of this is proofread and I wrote it all in one go, take it as it is.

“Ouch!”

Fiddleford turned and saw Leeli stick a finger in her mouth, frowning.   
“What happened?” he asked, reaching for her hand. She pulled her finger out of her mouth and showed him a tiny cut with blood blossoming out of it.  
“Splinter,” she said. “When my crutch starts to get old I get them sometimes.”  
Fiddleford frowned and inspected the crutch. “It is lookin’ mighty frayed,” he agreed. He pulled back and rubbed his hands together nervously. “Y’know, I could probably make y’one that don’t do that. Iffin I made it outta metal and just made it look like wood on the outside. It’d be sturdier too, better for whackin’,” he gave her a little grin.  
Leeli giggled. “I’m always up for a good new whacking crutch,” she said. “You’d have to talk to grandpa though, he’s the one who always makes me a new crutch.”  
Fiddleford blinked. “O-oh.”

Podo, the children’s grandfather, was the member of the family Fiddleford had interacted with least. He might have been able to make friends with him by now, but the man was big and loud and he made Fiddleford nervous.

Leeli laid a hand on his arm and he startled a little. “I bet grandpa would let you help,” she said, smiling. “He’s a lot kinder than he acts sometimes.”  
“Heh,” Fiddleford looked down. “Well, I reckon I could give it a shot.”

Leeli leaned up and hugged him. “Thank you, Fiddleford!”

****

Podo Helmer had not given much thought to the strange man Artham had brought home after his adventure a few months ago. The fellow seemed content to avoid him, which was fine with Podo- he had had enough of crazy people in his life. Fiddleford didn’t seem to be any threat to anyone, and he got along well with the children, so Podo had no reason to dislike him. In fact, he’d barely talked to the man in the whole three months Fiddleford had lived in the castle.

So that was why Podo was surprised when he had a knock on the door of his quarters, and opened it to find Fiddleford standing there, wringing his hands and staring at his socks.

Podo blinked. “Can I help you?”  
“Heh,” Fiddleford glanced up at him, then quickly looked back down. “Guess that’s kinda what I came to ask.”  
Podo raised an eyebrow. “Help me with what?”  
“Well, I was talkin’ with Leeli, an’ she was tellin’ me that her crutch was startin’ to get old and that when that happened you’d make her a new one. Well, I was wonderin’ if you’d like some help with it. I know a way that could make it sturdier, an’ not chip away when it gets old. I could even-”  
“Now look here,” growled Podo, folding his arms. “I been makin’ a crutch for me granddaughter for ten years, and I should think after all that time I know how to do it well. I don’t need no fancy inventor coming here and tellin’ me how to do my job. So why don’t you just run along and find somebody else to bother.”

He slammed the door without waiting for a reply and huffed. Who did the man think he was?

If Podo had not been so quick to slam the door he would have seen Fiddleford’s stricken expression and how it changed to one of panic before he darted down the hallway.

****

“Artham! Artham are y’there!”

Fiddleford stood frantically knocking on the door to Artham’s room. He had no idea if his friend was there or off somewhere else in the castle, but he desperately needed someone to talk to.

The door opened and Fiddleford stumbled forward. Artham caught him and steadied him. “Fiddleford, what’s wrong?” he asked, sounding worried.   
Fiddleford rubbed his eyes. “Aw, I made a right mess of things,” he said miserably. “Thought I could be helpful, I should’a known I still ain’t no good to nobody.”  
“You stop that,” said Artham, firmly. Fiddleford blinked tears out of his eyes and looked up into Artham’s determined expression. “That is absolutely not true. You have done great good here. Now come in and tell me what happened.”

Artham led him inside and they sat in a pair of armchairs next to one of the windows.  
“What happened?” Artham asked gently after a few moments had passed.  
Fiddleford twisted the fabric of his sweater in his hands. It was going to be too warm to wear it soon, and he wasn’t sure what he was going to do then. “I talked to Leeli about how she was gonna be needin’ a new crutch soon an’ she told me to talk to her grandpa. So I did. I just-I just told him I wanted to help, honest, I-I didn’t mean nothin’, but he got mad at me an’ told me to mind my own business an’ get lost. Then he slammed the door on me. I really didn’t mean nothin’, Artham, I-I just wanted to help, I didn’t mean to make him mad-”

There was a rustle of wings and Artham knelt down in front of him and pulled him into a hug. “Hush, it’s alright, you’ve done nothing wrong. This is just a misunderstanding. I’ll talk to Podo.”  
“I’m sorry,” said Fiddleford, shaking a little. “I knew this was gonna happen, I just mess everything up.”  
“You haven’t messed anything up,” said Artham. “Podo should not have been angry at you,” he sighed. “This is not the first time something like this has happened. I would rather deal with it now before it becomes a true problem.”  
“Aw, I didn’t, I don’t wanna, look,” Fiddleford pulled back and looked at Artham. “I-I don’t wanna cause trouble for you folks. I-I-I’ll just leave, it-it ain’t no trouble.”

He couldn’t cause problems for these people. They were so kind and welcoming and he’d known from the start that he didn’t deserve any of that. He was surprised it’d taken this long for something to go wrong like this.   
And he wished it hadn’t. Because now it hurt. Because now it was starting to feel like a home and leaving was going to break his heart. But he would rather go than cause trouble for the good people who lived here.

“You don’t have to leave, Fiddleford,” said Artham. “I’ll get this straightened out. Come on, why don’t we go down to the kitchens and get you some tea and I’ll come find you when I’m done?”  
Fiddleford nodded, but he felt numb. He felt Artham’s arm around him as they walked down the corridors and he leaned into his friend, wishing desperately that he Artham was right and everything would be okay, while knowing in his heart that it couldn’t be.

****

Artham forced himself not to be angry. He told himself over and over again that this was only a misunderstanding, that this wasn’t like Glipwood.

He clenched his hands into fists and dug his long nails into his hands as he strode down the halls. He had left Fiddleford in the kitchens in Sara’s care (Maker bless that girl) and had forced himself to breathe before he hurried off to find Podo.

But misunderstanding or not he would not let this continue. He was not going to let it become something. It was going to be dealt with, right now, before things got out of hand.

When he reached Podo’s door he stilled and took another deep breath. Talking to the old pirate was not one of his favorite pastimes, even now. Things had been easier, since Artham’s transformation and the end of the war, but there was still an underlying current of tension between them that stemmed from an old anger that had never truly been resolved.

Artham closed his eyes and forced all of that out of his mind. He was not here to deal with all of that. He was here for Fiddleford.

He was going to fix this.

He knocked on the door. He heard an exaggerated sigh and Podo’s voice call. “Can’t a man get any peace around here?” then footsteps and the door opened to reveal the old man.  
“Artham,” said Podo, looking tired. “What is it?”  
Artham took a breath. “Podo I’m here about Fiddleford.”  
Podo’s brow darkened a bit. “He was here earlier, trying to make me think he could do a better job of makin’ Leeli a crutch than I could.”  
“That was not his intent,” said Artham, fighting to keep his voice level. “And whatever you said to him upset him greatly.”  
“It’s not my fault he’s such a nervous feller,” said Podo, folding his arms and glaring a bit.  
“Well I’m fairly sure he thinks you hate him now,” said Artham, his frustration starting to get the better of him. “And whether you understand it or not you ought to apologize.”  
“Apologize!” Podo huffed. “I ain’t got nothing to apologize for, Artham.”  
Artham clenched his hands. “Oh, like you never had anything to apologize for in Glipwood?” he said, finally letting his anger seep into his voice. “What do you have against people who only want to help?”  
“I’m against strangers comin’ and tellin’ me how I ought to be doing things,” snapped Podo. “And it’s not like I had any reason to trust you back in Glipwood, you weren’t exactly right in the head.”

Artham could bear it no longer. His wings spread out behind him on their own accord and his voice rose to a furious shriek. Podo had the sense to look slightly alarmed. “I don’t care about what you did to me in Glipwood, Podo Helmer, but I will not let you treat Fiddleford how you treated me! This ends here and now,” Artham’s voice and wings quivered. “Do not speak to him again until you have the decency to apologize. I _will not_ allow this to continue. I will not.”

And with that he spun on his heel and strode back down the hall, leaving a stunned Podo watching him from the doorway.

****

“Stupid birdman,” Podo grumbled some time later, sitting at his desk with his head in his hands.

He had been angry at first. He had shouted and cursed at Artham and his friend, knocking things around in his room and seething. He hadn’t done anything wrong, and here Artham was, getting all riled up about something foolish. Why couldn’t the birdman just mind his own business?

But now his anger had cooled and he just felt tired. Maybe he had been wrong, maybe he ought to have treated Fiddleford differently. And though he hated to admit it, he knew that he had treated _Artham_ wrongly all those years in Glipwood. Artham did have a right to be angry with him, and the fact that he normally held his peace meant that he was a better man than Podo usually gave him credit for.

He wasn’t sure what to do now. He probably ought to go apologize, but he was terrible at apologies and he knew it. That, and, if he was being honest, his pride wouldn’t allow him to go make amends.

As he sat in his room wondering what to do there was a small knock on his door. He sighed, wondering how many visitors he was destined to have that day. “Come in,” he called.

The door opened and he heard a little _tap-step, tap-step_ and knew who it was even before a little golden head popped up beside him and a voice like honey spoke.

“Hi grandpa,” said Leeli quietly, coming to stand beside him.  
“Hello Leeli,” sighed Podo. “And what have you come to talk to me about?”  
Leeli took a breath. “Grandpa, I don’t want you to be angry with uncle Artham and Fiddleford,” she said.  
“To tell the truth, sweetheart, I don’t really want to be angry with them either,” Podo confessed. “But I’m not sure what I ought to do about it.”  
“Just say you’re sorry,” said Leeli, her sweet little voice making it sound so easy. “And grandpa, listen, I know you like to make us things, and nobody could ever, ever replace you,” she set a little hand on his arm. “But I want to help Fiddleford feel at home here, and he has some _really_ good ideas. I think you would like him if you talked to him. And I did ask him to talk to you about helping to make me a new crutch because I thought it could be even more wonderful than normal if you worked together.”

Podo shook his head and chuckled. “You do know how to soften this old pirate up, don’t ye lass.”  
Leeli leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. “Just please don’t stay angry, okay? At Fiddleford or uncle Artham. Because uncle Artham only wanted to help, you know, and Fiddleford’s especially important to him because I think it’s been a really long time since uncle Artham had a good friend like him. And earlier you scared Fiddleford and he said he would leave and I think that scared uncle Artham. That’s why he yelled at you.”

Podo sighed. It seemed he had been causing a great deal of trouble today. “Alright, lass, I’ll talk to them. Thanks for tellin’ me and makin’ me see how silly I’m being.”  
Leeli smiled at him and gave him a hug. “It’s because I love you, grandpa. I love you so much.”  
Podo hugged her back. “I love ye too, lass.”

****

It was the same evening when Podo found his way to Fiddleford’s room. He had never been there before, and Leeli had had to give him directions. He knocked on the door more softly than he would have normally and waited. After a moment a voice called. “Come in!” and he pushed the door open and walked inside.

Podo blinked, staring at the cluttered space before him. He wondered briefly if Nia had ever been in here, and what she thought of the haphazard arrangement of tools and materials scattered on the floor.

He only glanced at it for a moment though before his attention caught on the man sitting in the middle of it all, staring at him openmouthed and frozen.

Then Fiddleford sprang to his feet and scrambled to the farthest corner of the room, staring at Podo with wide, scared eyes.

Podo shook his head slowly. The man really did act like Artham had in Glipwood.

Podo held up his hands. “Alright, hang on, hang on, I’m not gonna hurt ye,” he said. “I just wanted to talk about earlier. I came-” he sighed and shook his head. “I came to say I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled at ye, you didn’t deserve that. Leeli came and talked to me and told me you were really only trying to help and I suppose I should’ve seen that. Anyway, if you’re still willing to help me with Leeli’s crutch then I wouldn’t mind the help.”

He started to turn to go when a small, scratchy voice stopped him. “Really?”  
Podo looked back at the man and saw Fiddleford slowly easing his way out of the corner. He shrank back a little when Podo looked at him, then visibly steeled himself and crept forward.  
“Yeah, sure,” said Podo. “What kind of changes did ye have in mind?”  
“Well,” Fiddleford’s voice quivered a little, but he reached down and picked up a sketchbook and held up a picture. “I could make it outta metal, so there ain’t no trouble with it breaking-”  
“But metal’s too heavy, ain’t it?” said Podo, frowning.  
A very small grin appeared on Fiddleford’s face. “Not all metal is. I can make some that’s plenty light. An’ I can show ya how to make it so it’s adjustable so that you don’t have to make a new one every year or two. Un- unless y’want to, o’course,” he looked nervous again.  
“That sounds like it’d be pretty handy,” said Podo. “It’s not that I mind making Leeli her crutch, mind ye, but I’m gettin’ a bit old to be doin’ it so often,” he stroked his beard thoughtfully. “Say, this has got me thinkin’. You think you might be able to make me a new pegleg? It gets kinda stiff y’know, didn’t notice it so much as a young feller, but now it can be right annoying.”

The little man lit up like a sunrise. “Yeah! You bet I could! I could do all sorts a’stuff with that!”  
Podo chuckled. “Well then, Fiddleford, seems I’ll get the pleasure of working with you after all,” he stuck out his hand. Fiddleford hesitated, then reached out and took it. Podo grinned at him and, after a moment, Fiddleford grinned back.

****

It was getting late when Podo walked into the sitting room where Artham was curled up on a couch, his wings tucked in tight around him like walls. He had talked to Fiddleford for what must have been a couple of hours, listening to the man chatter on (that feller could _talk_ when he got going) about all sorts of modifications and possibilities related to Leeli’s crutch and Podo’s new prosthetic. He had been absolutely thrilled about the challenge, and Podo found himself glad that he’d taken his wise granddaughter’s advice.

Now he had another apology to give, and it was long overdue.

“Hello Artham,” he said with a sigh.  
Artham looked up at him, and drew his wings in tighter around him. “Podo,” he said, quietly, before looking away. He sighed. “I’m sorry about earlier. I shouldn’t have gotten angry, it didn’t help anything-”  
“Oh now don’t you start apologizin’,” said Podo, folding his arms. Artham looked up at him, confused. “I’m the one who ought to be sayin’ sorry. In fact, that’s what I came here to do,” Podo lowered his arms and walked over. “And I am sorry, Artham. I ought to have said it a long time ago, but pride and stubbornness kept me from it. I should never have treated you the way I did in Glipwood; it was wrong and you didn’t deserve it. I was just angry and grieving, and I didn’t have anywhere else to put it all. I wish I hadn’t ended up taking it out on a member of my own family though. I’ll understand if you’re still angry, I probably deserve that, but I’m getting to old to hold on to grudges and anger all the time, I tried that before and it only made me bitter. I don’t want that to be how my family remembers me. I understand if you don’t forgive me, but I just wanted you to know that I’m sorry.”

He turned to go but a hand landed on his shoulder and he looked back to see Artham staring at him, his face twisted into a pained expression.

“Podo, wait, I-” he took a breath. “I am sorry. I’m sorry for earlier and I’m sorry about-about Wendolyn-”  
Podo felt his throat get tight. “Oh don’t start. I should never have blamed you for that anyway. It was the Fangs that did that, not you.”  
Artham blinked and tears ran down his cheeks. “I didn’t want to be angry with you to begin with. I just,” his voice shook.  
“Leeli talked to me about today,” he said. “I think I understand. Now don’t worry about it, it’s water under the bridge, understand?” he waved his hand dismissively. “We’ve both lost too much to be angry with each other, don’t you think?”  
Artham made a pathetic attempt at a smile and nodded.   
Podo sighed. “Oh fine, alright, come here,” he grabbed Artham and pulled him into a hug. Artham froze for a moment, then hugged him back. “But don’t ever tell anyone I did this, y’hear?”  
Artham gave a watery chuckle. “I promise.”  
“Good,” said Podo, blinking in a vain attempt to hold back his own tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hhhhhh I did not expect this to be my longest chapter. I hope y'all enjoyed the tangent that was Podo and Artham dealing with their issues and forgiving each other. :)


	13. Titles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back with another one of these! This takes place maybe a week and a half after "A Lost Fiddle", but you don't have to have read that to understand it.

“Uncle Artham,” said Leeli as she wove a flower crown together for him. “I think that if we’re going to adopt Fiddleford we need to figure out how he should be related to us. Like how when we adopted Sara she became my sister.”  
Artham nodded as he wove a pair of flower bracelets for his niece. “That’s a good idea. Did you have anything in mind?”  
“Well,” Leeli hesitated, looking up at him. “Yes. But I wanted to make sure it was okay with you first.”  
Artham tilted his head, giving her a quizzical look. “Why wouldn’t I be okay with it?”  
Leeli shrugged. “I just wanted to make sure.” She sat up and held up her crown. Artham bowed his head so she could arrange it in his hair then sat back up and bestowed the bracelets on her.

Artham sat back and raised an eyebrow. “Well, I suppose you’d better tell me your idea then, Leeli.”

****

“Mama,” said Kalmar. “I’m the King. That means I’m allowed to appoint advisers, right?”  
“It does,” agreed Nia, looking up at him. “Would you like to?”  
“Yes,” said Kal. “I mean, you and grandpa and uncle Artham are unofficially anyway, but I want to make some official advisers.”   
“A good plan,” Nia agreed. “Who did you have in mind?”  
“Well,” Kal looked down and played with a string on his sleeve. “I could make the ones like you and uncle Artham official, and I was thinking Janner probably should be too since he’s a Throne Warden, and,” Kalmar took a deep breath. “Fiddleford. And I know a lot of people will think he’s weird, and he’s not Annieran, but he’s got a lot of really good ideas and he’s really smart and I mean Bonifer wasn’t Annieran either and I am very, _very_ sure that Fiddleford would make a better adviser than _him_.” Kal shuddered. “And I want him to feel like he belongs here and I think this is a good way to do it.”

Nia nodded at him. “I think that is an _excellent_ idea, Kalmar.”  
Kal blinked. “Really?”  
“Yes,” said Nia, smiling. “Now, as for the official side of things…”

****

Fiddleford hummed to himself as he worked at weeding the ever-growing garden of the castle. Nearby, Dora pounced on piles of weeds, scattering them around and chasing them. Arundelle was working a few plots away. The Wingfeathers hadn’t left him alone since he’d run off. Even at night Artham or one of the boys stayed in his room. It was strange, but it did make it impossible for him to think that they didn’t care about him, which was good.

He heard a little tap-step-tap-step coming down the path and looked up as Leeli approached. Dora ran up to the little girl and trotted alongside her until they reached Fiddleford. Leeli knelt down and Dora immediately pushed her way into the girl’s arms, purring loudly. Fiddleford chuckled.

“Howdy, Leeli,” he said, smiling at her. “How are you on this fine summer’s day?”  
Leeli smiled back at him, but she looked… nervous? Which was confusing and made a little seed of worry take root in his heart. “I’m good,” said the little girl, crawling over to sit next to him. “And, um, I wanted to talk to you about something.”  
Well that didn’t sound good. “O-kay, what is it?”

Leeli bit her lip and wrung the hem of her dress in her hands. “Well, I was thinking. Um, well, okay,” Leeli took a deep breath. “When we adopted Sara we made her my sister. And I thought since we adopted you too we should make it official. So I think you should be our uncle.”

Fiddleford felt his heart stop for a moment and the world seemed to tilt. “You what?” he managed, his voice squeaking a little.  
“You don’t have to be,” said Leeli quickly, her eyes wide. “But I asked uncle Artham and he thought it was a good idea too. I haven’t told anyone else, in case you didn’t like it.”  
Fiddleford stared at her. “You- you want, you what-” he pressed his hands to the ground and tried to breathe.  
He felt Leeli’s hands on his shoulders. “Fiddleford are you okay?” she asked, sounding concerned.  
He looked up at her, shaking his head. “D’you really mean that?”  
“Mean what?”  
“That y’want me in yer family like-like that. _Officially_ ,” he said.  
“Of course I do,” she said, sounding almost indignant. “We all do.”  
“Heh,” he sat back and looked down. “Y’know that’s all I’ve wanted for a long time now. T’have people want me. T’be in a family again.”

Leeli tilted his chin up. “Then tell me yes. I’ll go stand on the roof and sing to all of Aerwiar that you’re our uncle now.”  
He laughed, shaking his head. “Y’don’t gotta do that. I just… You want me t’be yer uncle?”  
“Yep!” Leeli grinned.  
“Can ya, I, well,” he looked down at his hands. “Can I hear ya call me that?”  
“Sure, uncle Fiddleford.”  
He started crying. He couldn’t help it. Leeli leaned forward and hugged him and, after a moment, he hugged her back.

Meanwhile, Arundelle hurried silently off through the garden to tell her husband they had a new adopted brother.

****

  
It was the next day when Janner and Kalmar arrived at Fiddleford’s room looking very serious. Fiddleford and Artham were sitting inside, talking while Fiddleford tinkered with various things.

“Hi uncle Fiddleford,” said Kal, unable to keep a grin off his face.  
Fiddleford ducked his head. That was going to take a long time to get used to. “Hello. What’re you boys up to?”  
“We have come on official business,” announced Kalmar, his face turning solemn again. “I know Leeli talked to you yesterday, but I had an idea of how to make you more _officially_ a part of things here too.”  
Fiddleford frowned. He looked at Artham, who shrugged but seemed to be hiding a grin. Fiddleford looked back at the boys. “O-kay, what’s that mean?”

Kalmar cleared his throat and straightened. “Fiddleford H. McGucket, I have decided to appoint you as an official advisor of Anniera. If you want to be, anyway.”  
“ _What_?!” Fiddleford felt his heart skip for the second time in as many days. “Are you playin’ a prank on me?”  
“No!” Kal said quickly. “I wouldn’t, not about this!”  
“He’s perfectly serious,” said Janner. “And if it makes you feel any better he made me an advisor too. Mama even approved.”  
Fiddleford gaped at them. “Y’want _me_ to be an advisor?! But, I, that, but I’m crazy!”

Kalmar knelt down in front of him. “I mean, so’s uncle Artham sometimes.”  
“He’s right,” Artham nodded.  
“And you are very smart and clever,” continued Kalmar. “And I trust you.”  
Fiddleford stared at him with wide eyes. “Y’do?”  
Kal smiled. “Of course I do!”  
“Well I, I dunno, I don’t, I don’t really think I’m qualerfied,” said Fiddleford.  
“That’s okay, I don’t usually feel qualified to be king,” said Kal, shrugging. “And I mean, you don’t have to say yes, but I’d be really happy if you did.”

Fiddleford hesitated, then laughed as tears gathered in his eyes. “Well I don’t think I’m gonna be real good at it, but I guess I can give it a shot if y’want.”  
Kal cheered, then hugged him. He pulled back, grinning.  
Fiddleford grinned back at him and ruffled his hair, a warm feeling settling in his chest.

He could belong here.  
He _did_ belong here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've had this chapter planned for months and then Wingfeather Falalalalls happened and technically the kids should be calling Fidds their uncle in that fic but I didn't want to spoil this one which is why they don't. Did that make sense? I hope it did.


	14. Importance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've thought a lot about Artham and Fiddleford's friendship and how it's so important to both of them and how they both need each other and I think I've made it clear how Fiddleford needs Artham but it might be less obvious how Artham also needs Fiddleford. So Arundelle and I are here to clear that up. Not the best thing I've ever written but you know what? I like it, and this is already the most self-indulgent fic I've ever written so why not.
> 
> Takes place around the same time as the last chapter.

There was a soft knock on the door. Arundelle opened it to find Fiddleford standing there, hat clutched in his hands, looking nervous. She hoped, someday, that she would never have to see that expression on him again because it broke her heart every time.

“Y’wanted t’see me, er, ma’am?”  
“Just call me Arundelle, Fiddleford,” she said. “And yes, I did. Come in.”

She led him inside and steered him over to the armchairs by the fire. He sat down on the floor without a second thought and Arundelle hid a small smile.

“You can sit in a chair if you like,” she said.  
“Oh, oh right,” he hopped up into one of the armchairs and looked around. “So, uh, what’d y’wanna talk t’me about?”

Arundelle took a deep breath and sat down. “I wanted to talk to you about Artham.”  
Fiddleford frowned. “Is, is this about when I ran off? I’m-I’m right sorry about that, I didn’t mean to worry anybody-”  
“No, this isn’t about that,” said Arundelle, shaking her head. “Or, I suppose it is, but, well, it’s hard to explain. I wanted to talk to you because I don’t think you understand how important you are to Artham and I’m not sure Artham has the words to explain it to you.” She smiled a little. “So I’m going to tell you.”  
Fiddleford looked uncertain but he nodded. “O-okay.”  
Arundelle nodded back. “This will probably be a bit rambling, and it might take a while, so I apologize for that-”  
“Aw it’s alright m-Arundelle. I ain’t got nowhere t’be.”  
She smiled. “Alright then.” She took a breath and focused her gaze on the mantlepiece, thinking. “I suppose I’d better start at the beginning. I’ve known Artham for a very long time- since we were children, actually- and I knew a few things about him from the start. One was that he was utterly devoted to his brother, as a Throne Warden should be. Another was that despite being kind, mischievous, and eventually handsome, Artham’s only two real friends seemed to be myself and his brother. Esben had a few friends, and Artham seemed content to accept them as his own by default. Which was fine, especially in our childhood. I think he could have had friends, if he’d wanted them, but he was busy looking after his brother, and since they truly were each other’s best friends I don’t think he saw the need to have more.  
“And then he lost Esben,” Arundelle looked down at her hands, absently rubbing her fingers against each other. “Throg broke him and he left his brother, and then he was alone for nine long years.”

Arundelle sighed and shook her head. She had never asked Nia why they hadn’t tried to help Artham after they recognized him in Glipwood. She didn’t want to know. It was just easier to accept the fact that her husband being alone for all those long years was inevitable, rather than wondering about what-ifs. But it still saddened her.

“After the war I tried to get Artham to befriend people here on Anniera,” she continued after a few moments. “But there were a few problems with that. Many people, especially those who were not originally from Anniera, saw him as a great hero- a legend come to life from a storybook- instead of just a man. And the other problem was that, well,” Arundelle raised her eyes to the ceiling. “Artham was nervous around them. He was ashamed when he met people who he’d known before the war and worried about what everyone would think of him since now he was the only one with wings and claws who sometimes babbled and spoke nonsense. I know that no one here would ever look down on him or think of him as less because of all that, but,” she shut her eyes. “He couldn’t see that. He would never allow himself to be more than cordial and polite around anyone I introduced him to.”

“And then,” she opened her eyes and looked at Fiddleford. He was listening to her intently, eyes wide. “You came along. When Artham brought you back with him I didn’t realize at first what had happened. It wasn’t until I saw the two of you laughing together one day-” she looked down and brushed a few stray tears out of her eyes.  
“Wh-what did I do?” Fiddleford asked uncertainly. “I mean, if y’don’t mind my askin’, it don’t seem like I’ve done very much good. Artham’s usually the one takin’ care of me, anyway.”  
“Exactly!” Arundelle looked up and saw Fiddleford pull back a little.

“Fiddleford, listen, really listen to me now,” she got up and knelt down in front of his chair, taking his hands in her own. His eyes darted around nervously for a moment and she waited until he’d focused on her. “The single most important thing in Artham’s life, the purpose that was drilled into him from the moment he could understand it, was to look after his brother. When he lost Esben it opened a terrible void in his heart. He needed someone to look after, to protect. For a while he filled that void with looking after the children. But they’re safe now, the war is over, and for a while Artham was lost again. He was so happy to have his family back, because oh he loves us all so much,” she smiled sadly. “But there was something else he needed. He needed a friend, and a very specific kind of friend. One that didn’t know him, who saw him as an ordinary man, who could relate to the struggles he had in his mind and not make him feel as if he had to hide them. And he needed someone he could look after.”

She stared up into Fiddleford’s wide, blue eyes and felt tears filling her own. “You fit every single one of those requirements,” she said softly. “You came from another world, from a land full of strange people and creatures, so Artham was not even extraordinary to you. Your mind has been lost in darkness and loneliness as his has and you struggle with a similar madness, so he is comfortable around you. And- I hope you won’t take this the wrong way- you are someone he can look after. He does so in a different way than he did with his brother, but you give him _purpose_ again. You are so very important to him, Fiddleford. And you are to me as well,” she squeezed his hands. “You don’t realize how much Artham has changed since you’ve been here, how much clearer his mind is and how much happier he is. It is absolutely delightful to me to see a side of him start to come out that I never thought I’d see again and you have had a great part in making it happen.”

She gently reached up and brushed away the tears sliding down his cheeks. “I think the Maker led you and Artham together. I think he knew you two needed each other. And I am so very glad he did.”

Fiddleford sniffed. “I-I don’t know what t’say. I didn’t, I didn’t realize I was so important t’you two.”  
Arundelle smiled. “That is why I told you all this. So you would know.” She sat up and hugged him. “And so that you will never have to wonder if we care about you.”

Fiddleford hugged her back. “Thanks,” he whispered.  
“You’re welcome,” Arundelle whispered back.


End file.
